


No Ordinary World

by kreiderrider



Series: Less Is Impossible [2]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, a very happy triad, kevin hayes is a delightful supportive himbo, maga twins need not apply, mats zuccarello is a good friend, the new york rangers say gay rights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:33:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 46,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25168519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kreiderrider/pseuds/kreiderrider
Summary: An epistolary fic: a series of blurbs, drabbles, poems, letters, journal entries, text message conversations, etcetera. It does all form one linear narrative involving Chris J. Kreider, Ph.D., who has married his colleague and moved from academia to an assistant coaching position behind the Rangers' bench. As they discuss opening their marriage to a third partner, the perfect person for the role emerges—who, incidentally, has been there all along.
Relationships: Chris Kreider/Mika Zibanejad, Chris Kreider/Reader, Mika Zibanejad/Reader
Series: Less Is Impossible [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1823284
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	1. thoughts [august 14 / august 18]

01\. journal  
[august 14 / august 18]

**_> you <_ **

August 14—

It’s crazy to think that Chris and I have already been married for a year. So much has happened. Here’s what I’ve realized:

I was stressed about the move, but I actually love it in New York. First of all, Throgs Neck is the perfect place. It’s close enough to everything important—just a half an hour’s drive to the practice rink for Chris, an hour on the train to Madison Square Garden, a ten-minute drive to work for me, and I’ve got what I wanted: the water outside of my window.

Other than that, teaching two classes at SUNY Maritime has been a good pastime. I’ll have the same schedule this year: go in on Tuesdays and Thursdays, do a 9am and an 11am, and I’ll be home by 2. But now, I get to write, and it’s wonderful. The Tsvetaeva biography opened doors for me; now I’m working on an experimental piece of fiction based on the life of Anaïs Nin. It’s kind of funny that I’m writing about her, really, since Chris and I have decided to open our marriage. I love how much we trust each other and how secure we are in our love; I love that we know, no matter what, we’ll always come home to each other, and that’s the best feeling in the world. We’ve even talked about having a third person join our relationship. Both of us think that, if the right person existed, we would be open to it.

I miss certain things, and people, like Jocelyn. She’s coming up to visit in early fall. But I’ve made new friends, too—I’ve grown to really enjoy hanging out with Mika and his fiancee, even though something rubs me the wrong way about her. I can’t put my finger on what it is, but Mika loves her, so that’s good enough for me. I get along really well with my colleague Casey; they’re hilarious and always can make me laugh on a shit day. Our neighbors are pretty great, too. They’re always willing to watch the cats when we’re gone. And we’re close enough to Chris’ family that we’re able to see each other often.

Life is good. I don’t know that it could be any better than this. Then again, I said that to Jocelyn once, and she told me not to think that way or I could miss a chance at even greater happiness. But since it was Jocelyn, I still don’t know if she was being deeply philosophical that day, or just trolling me.

**_> chris <_ **

August 18

We get on the plane to Sweden tomorrow! I’m looking forward to a lot of things, but specifically the club Mika told us about. I am convinced my wife is going to be the most gorgeous creature in the entire place, and I can’t wait to watch her take her pick of everyone there.

When she and I talk about opening up our marriage, and dating a third person, I wonder if there’s someone out there that will suit us both. We can—and have—found people we’re attracted to, just to add to the mix for the night, but as far as a real relationship goes, I think it might be difficult to find someone who meshes well with both of us. I’m really intrigued by the idea. I guess if someone perfect falls into our laps, then we’ll give it a shot.

Sweden’s going to be great, but I’m also looking forward to getting back to the grind of the hockey season. I have a really good feeling about the team this year.


	2. text time [september 10]

  
  
  



	3. over and out [september 12]

03\. over and out  
[september 12]  
  
  
“Mika,” you said, greeting him, and immediately wrapped him up in a big hug. “I’m so sorry,” you said into his chest, and the sorrow you felt on his behalf was visceral. You let him go and Chris hugged him next, holding him for a long time. He said nothing.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mika said, though he was clearly a little choked up. “Better now than five years in, right?”

You thought that if you ever saw Allison again, you’d break her face for breaking Mika’s heart, but you kept that to yourself. You were still completely bewildered by the whole thing. How could anyone in their right mind cheat on Mika? Mika, who made space in his airy penthouse for her brutalist art, because she loved it and he loved her. Mika, who quietly made at least one person’s life better every single day because he had the means and the heart to do so. Mika, who learned languages to make teammates feel more comfortable. Gentle, tender Mika. Who could stand to make those eyes sad?

“So she comes over for the rest of her stuff today, right?” Mika was saying, as the three of you grabbed a table. He perched on a bar stool. “Her last low blow was ‘if it makes you feel better, I haven’t loved you in months, and I was planning to break it off anyway.’” This time, his voice audibly cracked.

Chris reached out to put a hand on his arm. You were very familiar with that touch. He’d used it with you so many times, trying to transmit an emotion he could not give voice to. You wondered what he was trying to say. I’m sorry, you guessed, but you knew it couldn’t be that simple. None of Chris’ emotions were ever that simple.

“Why say that?” Mika continued. “What about that could possibly make me feel better?”

“I will throw down if I ever see her again,” you vowed, teeth clenched. “No one fucks with my friends like this.”

Mika smiled sadly, his gaze landing on your stiletto nails. “With those, you could do some real damage.” He heaved a sigh. “I just want to get drunk, eat too much, and forget she ever existed.”

You ordered drinks and food, and while you and Chris had a pair of ciders, Mika started right in with a vodka cranberry.

Chris asked him about the music festival in Sweden he’d played over the summer, and Mika launched into an account of his weekend in Gothenburg, including how nice the Lundqvists had been to let him and his fiancee stay at their place. Mika was clearly upset that there were good memories now soiled by her presence. When the food came, you were all well into your third round of cursing her name.

“What we need to do,” you said, “is find you a better woman to help you forget.”

He thoughtfully ate a french fry. “Maybe a woman. Maybe not.”

“Maybe good food, then? Chris makes a mean shepherd’s pie.”

Mika laughed. “No, I meant—” He was clearly uncomfortable, aware of having said too much, then decided to go ahead. “Well, you’re my best friends. I’d trust you guys with anything, so I trust you not to tell anyone what I’m saying. I meant— well I meant a person, but just maybe… not a woman.”

Suddenly, the mood changed.

“Double the options,” you said, trying to keep the mood light.

Chris just stared at him for a moment. You were about to elbow him, but he finally found his voice. “When did you realize?”

Mika shrugged. “I mean, years ago. But I always figured, what was the point of coming out? I was dating girls, and—you know.”

“Toxic culture?” you piped up, and Mika nodded sadly.

“I don’t know. I might not ever get to explore that side of myself. I’d like to.” He polished off his drink. “Maybe I just need to not give a fuck.”

“You giving a fuck or not giving a fuck is not the only problem,” Chris said sharply, “and you know that.” He sounded protective.

Aghast, you looked at your husband, his mouth drawn in a thin line, knuckles white as he gripped his glass. “Mika,” you said, “we’re here for you no matter what you decide, and we certainly aren’t going to spill your secret.”

Chris nodded firmly. “Agreed.” He paused, reached across the table, and placed a hand on Mika’s arm. His eyes were serious. “But please make a solemn promise to me that you will not try to fuck Tyler Seguin.”

Mika nearly spat out his drink laughing. “Jesus, you admit one time that a guy looks good, and your best friend will never let you live it down…”

\----------

When you got on the train, you confronted Chris immediately. “What was that?” you demanded.

“What was what?”

“Mika just came out to us. That’s a huge deal. You seemed really weird about it.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I didn’t mean to come off that way. I guess it just kind of came out of nowhere, but at the same time… at the same time it really didn’t.”

You waited for him to continue.

“I always kind of suspected,” Chris admitted, “but having that bomb dropped on a night when he’s mourning the loss of a relationship was unexpected. I just wasn’t prepared. Do you think I should text him?”

“Probably.”

He pulled out his phone, thought for a moment, and tapped out a quick text. “No one comes out in the NHL,” he said after a minute. “It’s just this unspoken knowledge. Like you said, there’s such a toxic culture…” He sighed. “More than anything, I just worry about him. If he makes an emotional decision in the heat of the moment to throw caution to the wind, it could fuck up the career he worked hard for.”

“Kind of like the emotional decision we made to fuck in your office a few years ago?”

He grinned. “Let’s hope Mika’s emotional decision has a similar outcome. He shouldn’t have to worry about being himself. I just… I just don’t want him to get hurt.”


	4. live from new york [october 3]

04\. live from new york  
[october 3]  
  


Jocelyn, who was visiting for an extended weekend, scratched Dinah’s neck and fed her another treat. “Jesus,” she said, “this is a professional hockey team?”

You laughed appreciatively. The Rangers were at Belmont Park, coasting through the last five minutes of a 7-2 win over the Islanders in the season opener. Mika had already put up two points and two assists, matching Artemi Panarin’s point total in the game.

K’Andre Miller had just made a nice defensive move to prevent a scoring chance, and the camera cut to Chris, patting him on the back on the bench, praising him for doing a good job out there.

“He’s a good egg, your husband,” she said. “Look at him, encouraging the babies.”

“He’s enjoying it, too. I’m really glad he found a way to get back into hockey.”

“Even though he doesn’t wear his English professor cardigans to the rink?”

You shrugged. “He wears them at home.” You headed to the kitchen to refill the bowl of salsa that the two of you were snacking on. You heard the horn sound, signaling the end of the game.

“I will bet any amount of money that people ship your husband with Mika,” Jocelyn said matter-of-factly, draining her wine glass. “Christ, look at them.”

You came around the corner. Mika, as usual, was the last one off the ice; he threw his arms around Chris, Chris buried his face in Mika’s neck, and Mika held him there for a moment as they talked. It was the same thing you’d seen so many times in their playing days, only then they were both in skates.

“Let bros show affection,” you chided, laughing. “We love men who aren’t about toxic masculinity.”

“Okay, but I’m just saying. I would bet real money that people think things about them.”

“Not all male displays of affection are homoerotic, Jocelyn.”

“I _know,_ but that wasn’t my _point._ ”

You laughed. “I concede. Someone’s probably thinking it.”

The two of you launched into a new conversation, about her new job and the absolute mess she inherited from her predecessor, but something about the whole conversation—and that visual of Chris and Mika—wouldn’t leave your brain. 

And then Chris got home, and your brain was on overdrive. You looked at him and all of a sudden you saw Mika everywhere: his arm around Chris, thumb rubbing his shoulder a little bit. The flat out kiss on the cheek at last year’s Halloween party. So many hugs. The way he’d reacted when he’d found out Mika wasn’t straight. And as you racked your brain, you could never recall him acting this way with Artemi, or Brady, or…

_Jesus Christ._


	5. lick my lips [october 17]

05\. lick my lips  
[october 17]

Sitting on the train, you could see your reflection in the window opposite you as it faced the black of the tunnel. Chris, his hair in perfect curls, wearing your favorite cardigan, could not be ignored. You elbowed him. “Are you _sure_ we can’t just turn around? We could get off at the next stop and just text Mika and tell him…”

“What?” Chris wore an amused expression. “Sorry we had to cancel last minute, my wife was too horny?”

You shrugged. “He’d be surprised?”

“He needs companionship,” Chris said. “We can’t just ditch him.” He put an arm around you. “Be patient, and I will fuck you into oblivion when we get home.”

“Patience is not one of my virtues.”

“Neither is chastity,” he deadpanned, and you punched him in the thigh.

When you arrived at the restaurant, Mika was already there waiting for you. In the absence of Mario’s, you’d fallen back on Chris’ old standby from his rookie year with the Rangers. You grabbed a round table and surveyed the options.

After you’d decided as a group to split the ominous-sounding Mountain, which was a literal heap of wings on a huge platter, Chris explained to Mika, matter-of-factly, “I didn’t really have good eating habits my first year in the NHL.”

“Human dumpster,” you cracked, and he nodded.

“So,” Mika said, “I have signed up for two dating sites.”

“Oh my God. Let’s see your profile,” you demanded.

“Well…” He pulled out his phone, hesitating. “I mean, ‘dating site’ is such a broad term…”

“You signed up for Tinder,” Chris said.

Mika spun his phone around to show you and took a sip of beer. “Maybe.”

You grabbed the phone out of his hands and scrolled through his photos. “I approve. I’d swipe right.”

Chris had an eyebrow in the air. “And what’s the second one?”

“Uhh.” Mika shifted uncomfortably. “I mean… if I signed up for _Tinder…_ ”

“Oh my god,” you said. “Can we look at that profile, too?”

He laughed. “Yeah, sure.”

You closed Tinder and scrolled through his apps until you found Grindr.

“So you’ve decided to go public,” Chris said.

“I mean… not exactly?” At the same time Mika said it, you pulled up his profile, and you couldn’t decide whether to laugh or congratulate him. He was standing outside, somewhere in the wilderness, back to the camera, one foot up on a rock. And he was completely nude.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Who _took_ this picture?”

“Your husband,” said Mika. “But see, I’m not showing my _face,_ and I only put my first initial, so…”

“What is the _story?_ ” you asked.

Chris leaned over your shoulder. “Oh my God,” he said, and then he was laughing, too. “It was when I went to Sweden with Mika a few summers ago. We spent a few days in Finland and ended up at a traditional sauna that was sort of in the middle of nowhere and this happened.”

You eyed Chris. “Is there a photo of you like this that exists? Because I would like to see it.”

“Nope. Mika was the only one who got a record of his bare ass that day.” Chris took the phone. “It’s a good picture. I approve. I’d swipe right.”

Mika laughed, but you swear his cheeks got red. “I mean. That’s a compliment. I mean you clearly have good taste,” he said, gesturing awkwardly at you. “Not that you’d _actually_ swipe right because you’re married. But. Thanks.”

You eyed him. He was _definitely_ red now.

He had a bevy of women ready to go on Tinder, and no shortage of men on Grindr, and you passed his phone around while you were waiting for your food, evaluating each one as a group. Incidentally, Chris seemed to find a flaw in every single one of them. No one, it seemed, was quite good enough for Mika.

Your wings came, and the phone went in Mika’s pocket, and Chris started a new conversation. “So, I finished reading this book the other night,” he began.

He’d already talked to you about the book, something about sports psychology, and Mika tuned in while you tuned out. You were thinking about later tonight. You watched him—how he sucked the meat off the bone, how his tongue hooked around skin, how his lips moved along the flesh, expertly. You noticed the glistening of his lips, the same sheen that covered them every time he emerged from between your legs. You wanted him, and you didn’t know if you’d be able to wait until you got home.

When you looked at Mika, you recognized that same hunger in his eyes. He was watching Chris the same way you were.

The pile of wings dwindled, and more empty bottles were taken away by the server, and Chris stared at the remaining food. “I am going to need to go to the gym tomorrow. For hours.” He was tipsy, and he blinked hard at the platter. “I will eat more of you,” he said solemnly to the wings.

“Get some of that workout tonight when we get home,” you said.

Mika rolled his eyes at Chris. “You could still pass, couldn’t you? You’re still fit to play. You motherfucker.” He was slurring his words a bit.

“We still make separate meals like 70 percent of the time,” you said, “because Chris doesn’t understand that cheat days can happen more than once a month and also that he does not need to—”

“Hey,” Chris protested. “I need to eat healthier than ever because I don’t get as much activity.”

“Activity,” you said, waggling your eyebrows, and he burst out laughing.

Mika clapped a hand on Chris’ thigh. It drifted, absentmindedly. “Seeeeeee. They’re still thick.”

“Dummy thicc,” Chris said, exploding with laughter, a wing dangling from his fingers.

Mika squeezed his thigh a little, round eyes becoming half-serious. “Noooo. Smart thicc.” He ruffled Chris’ hair. “Big brains.”

Chris smiled. “Biggest thing about me?”

He withdrew his hand. “We have both _seen_ your dick. We _know_ how big it is.”

It suddenly occurred to you that Mika had probably seen him a billion times—not only in the sauna, but in the locker room.

“It’s not like you’re _lacking,_ ” Chris said.

“If this becomes a Fitzgerald and Hemingway conversation,” you said, “I’m out of here.”

Chris howled with laughter while Mika looked confused. “Explain,” he said.

You excused yourself to the bathroom, leaving Chris to explain the legendary penis size conversation between two of America’s most beloved authors.

Once inside a stall, your ears buzzed from the sudden silence of the bathroom, the bright lights hurting your eyes. No one else was in there.

“Mika,” you said aloud, just to taste the name on your lips. All sorts of feelings were churning inside you—in your stomach, in your head, between your thighs.

You’d talked about adding a third person to your relationship. It was a real possibility. You pictured Mika, dark eyes and pulled-back hair, inside of you while his lips met Chris’ over your shoulder. You were wet just thinking about it.

On the way home, you couldn’t help but ask one question.

“You said you’d swipe right on Mika,” you said playfully to Chris. “Does that mean you’d share me with him? You’d invite him to a threesome?”

He pretended to contemplate this. “I would definitely trust Mika with you,” he said. “Why, is this something you want?”

You gave an elusive smile. “I don’t know. Maybe.”


	6. text time [october 18]

  
  
  
  
  



	7. toe in the water [october 22]

07\. toe in the water  
[october 22]

The coffee shop was chilly. You curled your fingers around your cup, more for comfort than for warmth. Across from you sat Mika, whom you had summoned here with a text: _Can we meet up for coffee tomorrow? Don’t tell Chris, because this may or may not involve a surprise for him!_

You hadn’t been lying, you thought.

“What’s going on?” asked Mika.

 _Now or never._ “I don’t know whether to ask you a thing first, or tell you a thing first.”

“You seem nervous.”

You actually cackled. You were that nervous. “Jesus. Yes. I am.”

Worried, he leaned closer. “Ask me the thing first.”

Now that you had committed, you wanted the earth to open up and swallow you. What if the answer to this question was _no,_ what if you’d been right, _not all male displays of affection are fucking homoerotic, Jocelyn—_ your words echoed in your mind. Your eyes were fuzzy and you shut them, and all you could see was Mika, drunk and holding on to your husband, talking about his thighs.

“Do you have a crush on Chris?” The words sounded so absurd, so juvenile, and Mika’s jaw came unhinged. He stared at you for a moment. This was the look you’d worn when your so-called best friend stole and read your diary in seventh grade, you were sure of it. Utter betrayal.

The silence was deafening. “Mika, please. I know you do. Just tell me…”

He was red now, tugging at his uncomfortably hot sweater. “Look. I was _never_ going to say anything. You keep that shit to yourself. In this league, if someone found out I was bisexual? If someone found out I’d caught feelings for a _fucking teammate?_ You have no idea. And then he married you and you both are so happy and I knew I could never have him, so that’s all I wanted for him. I just want him happy and he is. He’s still my best friend. Why complicate things? Why—” He set his palm down on the table, softly, but with emphasis. He traced the pattern in the marble with a fingertip for a moment. “I’m not going to move on him. I’d never do that to either of you. I care too much about both of you to be that fucking selfish. Why did you bring me here to ask me this?”

“Can I tell you the thing now?” You didn’t even wait for a response. “Did you know Chris and I are in an open marriage?” There it was, blurted out, and you couldn’t look him in the face.

He paused. “I know. You _know_ I know. I’m the one who recommended the club you went to, remember? I…” He trailed off, aware of his surroundings.

“No. Not just that. Open as in more than just a threesome. Open as in adding a third person for more than a night.”

Suddenly, he was able to look at you again.

You gathered your purse and coat. “I would say yes to a trial run of having you with us. But it’s you and Chris that are going to have to have this conversation first,” you said to him. “Whatever’s there between you two has existed longer than Chris and I, and I think you ought to have the space to deal with that.”

He stared at you. “Am I supposed to call him?”

“I’ll talk to him tonight. I’ll have him call you.”

–---------

Later that night, you and Chris were on your stomachs on the floor, blankets over each of you. Pearl purred contentedly, draped over Chris’ legs, and you wished Snowball would follow suit; she kept wanting to walk over the chess board.

“I have a question,” you said casually, after sliding a rook across the board. “When we were talking about having a true open marriage—bringing someone else in—did you have someone in mind?”

He stared thoughtfully at the board, considering his next move. “There’s someone I could maybe imagine filling that spot,” he said carefully. He moved his knight, but held his finger on the top of the piece, surveying for possible attacks.

“Mika.”

He looked up at you, surprised.

“Chris, I literally asked you if you’d invite him to bed with us and you said yes.”

“I mean, okay, so…?”

“So, do you want to see what it would be like with a third person? With Mika?”

“You’re serious?”

“Yeah.”

“God.” He removed his finger from the piece. “Where did this come from?”

“It’s so clear that there’s something there,” you said. “I know you’re good friends, and I know you’re close, but especially the way Mika acts around you… it just became pretty obvious that he’s harboring some sort of feelings for you. And I like Mika. We already spend a lot of time together, the three of us. It seems like a natural transition.” You paused. “You didn’t answer. Is this something you’d want to try?”

“Yes, I would. I just—” he chuckled softly, shaking his head—“I went through this two years ago with you, not wanting to ask the question that would wreck our friendship, but at the same time wanting to know if it could be something more, and now I have to ask it again.”

“And that turned out pretty well for us both.” You smiled, and he returned your smile.“I actually, uh… I shouldered the uncertainty for you,” you went on. He met your eyes, a question in his gaze, and you shrugged. “I met Mika for coffee this morning to just ask him if he was into you.” You advanced a pawn.

“You what?” He wore the same expression Mika had at the coffee shop, only a little less horrified.

“I mean, like I said, I suspected he did. Actually, Jocelyn was the first to suspect something…”

“ _Jocelyn,_ ” he groaned, laughing. “I should have known.”

“To be fair, it’s not often that a coach buries his face in the sweaty neck of his star center during a long embrace on live television.”

He laughed. “God, okay. Fair. But you—you talked to Mika? What did he…”

“Don’t try to be casual. He literally used the phrase ‘caught feelings.’”

All of a sudden, Chris was holding his breath. It was his move, but the chess game was all but forgotten.

“Can we be frank?” you asked.

“Of course.”

“Tell me how you feel about him. You should know I’m not going to be jealous.”

He sat up, shaking Pearl off his legs; she let out an annoyed _brrrt_ and stalked off to the kitchen. “He’s my best friend, but it always felt like we had a deeper relationship than just that. And… well, yes. I’m attracted to him. I suppose ‘caught feelings’ would be accurate. A long time ago.”

“Before me,” you said, and it wasn’t a question.

He nodded. “But that doesn’t diminish us. If I had both of you in front of me and I could choose one of you, with no negative repercussions, I would choose you. Always. And I want you to know that.”

You sat up too. “I do know that. Chris, you have a lot of love in you. I have a lot in me, too. We have plenty to give to Mika.”

“You— wait, you feel the same way about him? I’m confused.”

“I don’t think I can say,” you said slowly. “Yet, at least. I know him well, but not quite as well as you do. I like him a lot. But I think the potential for that feeling is there. I’m attracted to him, too. I would certainly not mind exploring this.”

“Jesus, I’m really going to have to have this conversation. I can’t believe—all this time, him, too?”

“It’s a storm inside of you both,” you said quietly. “Remember Marina? “I love you—like a storm burst overhead, I must confess it.”

“I said that to you. In Russian, when I thought you spoke none.”

You smiled. “And maybe now you need to say it to him. In English, though.”

“And you want this?”

“We’ve had this conversation a thousand times over. I know it’s always been sort of abstract, but now here’s this person you have feelings for—and whom I get along with really well and could possibly love— don’t you think it’s worth it to see if we can make the abstract concrete? See if it works in real life like we think it will?”

“Only if you are one hundred percent on board with this. You mean too much to me, and I’m not losing you for any reason.”

You took his hands in yours. “I am one hundred percent on board.”

He paused, looking down at your hands in his, and straightened the diamond on your finger. “I’m his coach.”

“I was the head of your department.”

“Fate is not on my side.”

“I don’t know.” You kissed him. “I think it might be, in a very odd sort of way.” You reached over Snowball and grabbed his phone, placing it in his palm. “Call him.”


	8. unsaid no longer [october 30]

08\. unsaid no longer  
[october 30]

“Okay, rules.” You were in the kitchen, piling asparagus onto a serving plate. Chris held plates while Mika set one perfectly cooked steak on each of them. “One, we are frank.”

“I’m Chris,” Chris said.

Mika laughed.  
  
“No dad jokes,” you chided, elbowing him.

“I’m nervous,” he said, setting plates on the table. “That’s frank. I make bad dad jokes when I’m nervous.”

“Two,” Mika said. “Complete and total honesty.”

“Three,” Chris said. “No matter what happens tonight, we’re not going to let it negatively impact us and the friendships we already have.”

You sat down at the table, and Mika cut into his steak, had one bite, then set his fork and knife down. “Okay, I’m going first. I can’t eat until I do this. My stomach is in knots.” He took a deep breath. “Jesus Christ, this could get all kinds of awkward tonight.”

“Yup,” you said, “but we’re doing it.”

“I have never admitted this verbally to another human.” He looked straight at Chris. “I’ve been in love with you for years.”

You nearly choked on your asparagus. _He’s dropping the L-word already? Okay, we’re in deep._

“Zucca knows. He’s the only one who knows. He has been trying to make me get over it since I told him, and I knew I had to. And then I met a woman who I fell in love with, and I knew she would be my second choice, but if I couldn’t have my first choice, right? You settle? So I thought I was fine until she fucking cheated on me and I had nothing again. Like I said, I was never going to make a move on you. Ever. Until someone told me to.” He looked pointedly at you, then back to Chris. “I thought you wouldn’t want that, and then you got married anyway, and I was happy for you. _Am_ happy for you. But now you’ve invited me here and you just—you needed to know that. I need you to know that.”

Chris opened his mouth to say something, but Mika wasn’t finished. He turned to you.

“I’d never thought of you as anything other than a friend until you brought this up,” he admitted, “but now that you’ve planted the seed in my head, I’ve realized there could easily be something more between us. I mean, I already thought you were gorgeous. I told Chris that the first time I saw a photo of you.”

“I believe you said ‘Ask her out already, if I weren’t already taken I’d ask you for her number since you’re such a chicken shit,’” Chris said.

Mika reddened. “Is that—”

“I probably still have the text, if you want me to check,” Chris said, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Anyway,” Mika said, “I like you a lot. I’ve thought about it a lot in the past few days and I could easily see our friendship evolving into something more.”

“She is pretty great,” said Chris. “Pause. I have to go get paper towels.”

“I like that you make him happy,” Mika said to you, as he disappeared into the kitchen. “All I want is for him to be happy.”

“We evidently both have a lot of feelings for the idiot who’s going to come back in here and dab all the olive oil off his vegetables, don’t we?”

Mika laughed. “Yes.”

You reached for his hand, just to see what it would feel like. It was warm, and rough, and it felt good to hold. He looked down at your hands, then back up at you. “I think there are only a few people in the world I’d share him with, Mika. You’re at the top of the list. And to tell you the truth, I’ve been thinking about you, too. The two of us. What that would be like.” You pulled back. “And the three of us. Everything.”

Chris came back in with a paper towel, sat down, and promptly started blotting the olive oil off his asparagus. You and Mika exchanged a look and a grin.

Mika tucked in to his steak, and it was Chris’ turn to speak. “Honesty. Okay.” He looked up and shrugged. “I’m full stop, one hundred percent in love with you both.”

This was not a surprise to you, because he’d told you as much. _I waited too long to say it to you,_ Chris had said. _Is it okay with you if I tell him right away?_

Mika’s eyes were round. “How _long?_ ”

He shrugged. “I thought about it when I was still playing. Denied it to myself. I left the game, met my wife, got married. And when she mentioned the idea of an open marriage, you were the first person who I visualized. Clearly, there was something there. The more I thought about it, the more I realized it was true.”

He let out a low whistle. “Jesus.”

You looked at Mika. “I don’t know you like Chris does, but if he feels that way about you, I feel like I will, too.”

“Now it’s time to be frank,” Chris said. “There’s a little problem. I’m your coach.”

Mika nodded quietly. “There’s a lot about this that people won’t like. A coach and a player, two men, a nontraditional relationship.”

“Do you want to risk it?” Chris asked.

Mika drained his wine glass and refilled it. “Remember when the two of you were fucking on the down low but not really dating?”

You both nodded.

“How many times did I text you, telling you to just ask her out? You kept saying that you didn’t want to risk getting her fired for dating a subordinate.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Chris said.

A grin spread slowly across Mika’s face before he looked back up at Chris. “I am _so_ ready to risk getting you fired for dating one of your players.”

You laughed, and Chris smiled. “Good. I’m ready to risk getting fired for dating one of my players.”

You were the one who said it. “We’re going to have to keep it a secret, though, aren’t we?”

“Yeah,” Mika said slowly. “I’m not ashamed of this, it’s just…”

“People aren’t ready,” Chris finished. “And I actually would like to keep my job if I can.”

“We can tell a few people, right? Jocelyn. I have to tell Jocelyn.”

“Zucca,” Mika said.

“I’m okay with both of them knowing,” Chris said. “I’m okay with us using our discretion. There are people we trust. I would love for none of the team to know about it though, Mika.”

He nodded. “I definitely understand that.” A pause. “So. Are we—are we officially doing this? Is this going to be a thing?”

You looked at Mika. “Are you asking us out?”

Everybody laughed nervously. Chris looked like he might pass out from the tension. Mika nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“You know my answer is yes,” Chris said quietly.

“Yeah,” you said, and reached out for both of their hands. “Yes. I like this. I like the idea of the three of us being an _us._ ”

“God above,” Chris said, letting out a huge sigh. “Mika, you brought cake, right? This is literally a miracle. I’m going to eat cake to celebrate.”

You and Mika feigned shock at the same time, in the same way, both gripping the table and dropping your jaws. You took it as a sign that this was going to go well.

“Assholes,” Chris said, laughing. “I’ll get the cake.”

“I’ll delete Tinder and Grindr,” Mika said, and he was glowing.


	9. text time [october 31]

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	10. i don't want you like a best friend [november 3]

10\. i don’t want you like a best friend  
[november 3]

Outside your bedroom window, the sea crashed against the rocks, great gusts of wind howling across the beach. It had stormed on your first night with Chris, too, and you recalled the torrents of rain against his office window at the university as you lay together in the firelight. You tended toward romanticism on momentous occasions such as this, and you wondered briefly if the universe was giving you a sign; less _violent delights have violent ends,_ more _the greater your storm, the brighter your rainbow._

You knew that a trio of pillar candles was lit in the corner of the room. You knew that Mika was on one side of you, that Chris was on the other. Your eyes, though, were closed, so you could focus on details you couldn’t see, because you wanted to remember this—in its entirety—for the rest of your life. You wanted to catalog every little detail, the marriage of the familiar and the new, the sounds and scents, the electricity in your body, everything you felt and sensed. There was Chris, all vetiver and cedar, earthy, familiar; and Mika, citrus and patchouli, bright and brand new. One pair of hands was rough, from workouts and games and gigs; one was soft, hands used to turning pages, hands used to drawing plays. On one side, a beard lightly scratched your face, long hair brushing your shoulder. On the other side, a smooth chin rested on your collarbone, curls against your cheek. _Yin and yang,_ you thought, thinking about how opposite they were in some ways—yet, in the years you’d known them, you could never imagine one without the other.

Though you weren’t complaining about having four hands on you, about having two pairs of lips kissing your neck, you couldn’t help but think that it was odd that they were both focusing on _you_ first. By definition, this night was about the three of you exploring each other. But there was an undercurrent that couldn’t be ignored: Mika and Chris had spent years dancing around this attraction. Surely they’d want to get to that right away? Surely they’d want to touch each other now that the other knew it was okay, that it was _wanted_? How was it so easy for them to be raw and open with their words, but so difficult for them to touch each other?

But you could tell, for them, it was easier to begin this way.

In that moment, you resolved to be what they needed you to be tonight.

You turned on your side toward Mika, and reached up to touch his face. Your fingers softly caressed the shadow of his beard, and you tilted your head towards his. He set a hand on your waist and brought his lips to meet yours.

It was at once strange, yet comfortable; you felt at ease in his presence. You trusted him wholly. But there would be an amount of adjustment until you felt thoroughly at home kissing a man whom, weeks before, was nothing more than a very good friend. You parted your lips to allow his tongue to pass; Chris’ kisses fell between your shoulder blades now, on your back, his hand resting on your hip. You reached down, laced your fingers with Chris’, and placed his hand on top of Mika’s. Mika inhaled at the touch.

You continued kissing Mika, and it was Chris who moved his hand first, from your waist to Mika’s, pulling him closer to you—and then Mika’s hand found Chris and pulled him, too. You didn’t want to separate them. So you undid the buttons on Mika’s Oxford shirt, one by one, pushing it from his shoulders, and exchanged shy smiles with Mika before you turned to Chris and pulled his T-shirt from over his head. Before Chris could reciprocate, you moved down, licking the scar adorning his chest with the tip of your tongue. You moved further down, kissing him just at the ribs, and willed them to take advantage of the space you left between their lips.

You sensed, rather than saw, Chris move his hand. He reached out to Mika and Mika leaned forward. You looked up just in time to see their lips meet; when Mika kissed Chris, he closed his eyes. The moment he opened them, he smiled involuntarily against Chris’ lips, the grin interrupting the kiss. “Sorry,” he said immediately. “I just—”

Chris grinned back. “Hey. Me too.”

You were happy to spend time at the waistband of Chris’ jeans as they had their first explorations, Mika gingerly reaching out to place his hands on Chris’ chest, Chris snaking an arm around Mika’s waist, figuring out which ways their lips fit together best. You tasted skin and denim as you drew a long line wih your tongue, lingering just above the button of his jeans, and you couldn’t resist teasing his cock with a fingernail; the moan he let out was muffled, and you realized he’d moaned into Mika’s mouth. His hand was in Mika’s hair, a fistful of dark brown around his fingers, and he was pulling him as close as he possibly could.

You undid the button on Chris’ jeans, pulled the zipper down, and tugged them down to his knees. You intended to take him in your mouth right away, but then you thought better of it.

 _Slow. We’ve got all the time in the world tonight._ There was no practice or game tomorrow, no classes to teach, and the sun had only just set when the three of you had entered the bedroom and shut the door.

You kissed Chris instead, just where his thigh met his pelvis, and then sucked the skin into your mouth, leaving a dark bruise blossoming in the wake of your lips. Later, you thought, you’d challenge Mika to make a darker one.

Behind you, Mika’s cock was straining against his pants, and you could feel him, hard against your shoulder blade. He was rolling his hips, whether involuntary or voluntary you didn’t know, but you had a hunch he couldn’t focus on anything but Chris’ lips— and Chris’ hands, too, which were now roaming Mika’s body freely, hungrily, as if he couldn’t touch enough of him at once.

Taking mercy on Mika, you turned and released the clasp and zipper on his pants. You weren’t going to expose him, not yet, but you thought he might feel better with less restraint; he reached down, running his fingers through your hair.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Chris said to you, tugging your dress off. Mika took in the shape of your body, the curve of your breasts, and reached for you. You moved back up, facing him, so he could see you properly. He reached out, hesitated, then kept going, almost as if his fingers were magnetically drawn to you, almost as if he’d briefly forgotten that he was allowed to touch you now. His fingers alighted on your skin and slowly traveled over your body. You melted back into Chris as Mika touched you, and then Mika’s lips became involved, softly kissing your shoulders, your collarbone; his hand cupped your still-clad breast while Chris sat his hands on your hips.

Mika’s voice was thick and soft and almost tangible enough to feel; it was as if the words themselves caressed your skin, your own name falling softly on your ear, his admissions— _you’re so beautiful,_ to you, _I’ve always imagined this,_ to Chris. He kissed you while running his fingers through Chris’ curls, and you couldn’t help but smile, remembering your own first time with Chris, your instinct to do the same.

“I want you,” Mika whispered. “I want you both.”

You were sure Chris wouldn’t mind you speaking for him. “We’re yours tonight,” you said simply.

He kissed you again and then, over your shoulder, kissed Chris. “I don’t know how patient I can be.”

Chris nodded. “Same. I—” He set his hand on Mika’s arm. “Well. You know.”

“Get your pants off,” you said against Mika’s lips, and he obeyed; Chris kicked his off the rest of the way, and you were the only one left wearing anything at all. Without even speaking, Mika reached behind you to unhook your bra, while Chris pulled your panties off.

“Let me be in your ass,” Chris said to you. “I want to feel you with Mika inside of you.”

“Mmm. How about you go down on me first?” You ran a hand through his hair. “You go down on me so I can go down on Mika?”

He grinned. “Can we tease him?”

“I’m _right here,_ ” Mika said, but he was smiling.

Chris turned onto his back and you knew just what he wanted you to show off. Mika sat at the head of the bed, right next to Chris, watching you as you positioned yourself above Chris, fixed your eyes on his, and slowly, steadily, took all of Chris’ cock down your throat, stopping only when your lips met his pelvis.

You saw Mika visibly tense. “Jesus,” he whispered.

“Get after him, babe,” Chris said with a grin, and you couldn’t have been happier to obey. You got on your back, and Chris settled in between your knees, your usual position.

“Mika,” you said. “Come here.” You got him to where he needed to be—standing on the side of the bed—and twisted at the waist so you could face him. You got a proper look at his cock—not huge like Chris, but long enough that you’d have to fight your gag reflex, and thick enough that just the tips of your thumb and finger met when you took him in your palm.

You started slowly, like you always did, and moaned around him as Chris’ tongue drew over your clit. He sucked gently at you while you learned Mika, figuring out how sensitive his head was, flicking your tongue across the frenulum, then going deep, taking him all the way down your throat, slipping your tongue out to caress his balls.

Meanwhile, Chris held your thighs tightly, focused on making you come, and you didn’t know what he enjoyed more—hearing your moans, muffled by Mika’s cock in your mouth, or hearing the sounds Mika made every time that extra stimulation made _him_ moan.

Mika’s fingers found your hair, two hands pulling and playing as you reached a hand between his legs. You pulled away long enough to coat your middle finger with saliva. Mika, knowing what you were thinking, pulled his ass cheeks apart to allow for your entry. You slid a finger inside, carefully, and he let out a long sigh. He’d _done_ this before, you realized, and you wondered how many times he’d lain in his bed at night, one or two fingers inside of his own body, closing his eyes and thinking of Chris. The thought made you shiver, especially with Chris’ tongue moving on you.

Mika’s knees buckled, and he steadied himself with a palm on your head; Chris had found the right spot and held you firm so you couldn’t move. You were screaming around Mika’s cock, and you could tell he was close; you felt his prostate harden at the tip of your finger, and you didn’t want him to come. Not here. Not yet. You withdrew your finger and fell back on the bed; Chris had you on the edge now, and Mika bent over, so his lips could take your nipple between them.

Between Chris’ tongue and Mika’s lips, you were on fire; your instinct was to sit up as you came, but this time, Mika prevented that, his mouth on you, a hand on your waist. You cried out as they both held you, thighs shaking in Chris’ grip, and a fleeting thought passed through your brain as you looked down at Mika: _this is way better than Sweden._

As you caught your breath, Chris surfaced, and Mika went straight to him. You watched as they kissed, Mika tasting you on Chris’ lips, and you felt weak.

“She tastes good,” Mika said as they broke apart, and Chris stared back at him.

“Yes. Do you want her on you?”

Mika nodded, though his hand lingered on Chris’ neck.

“Get on your back,” Chris told him.

Mika stretched out on his back and you climbed over him. His eyes lingered for a moment on your chest, then he looked into your eyes as you lowered yourself onto him. “Here we are,” he whispered, and he looked over your shoulder, watching Chris intently as he coated his cock with lube and slowly slid into your ass, taking his time, making sure he didn’t hurt you.

“I can—” Mika’s voice caught. He cleared his throat. “I can feel you,” he said to Chris, and his eyelids fluttered. “God, I can feel you. Chris. Can you—”

“Yes,” Chris said. “I can feel you, too.”

The wall behind your bed was mirrored. When you and Chris had bought the house, you’d thought about tearing the mirrors out, but decided to keep them—mostly out of laziness, if you were honest. Now, you were so glad you had—you looked into the mirror and saw Chris, a single curl dropped onto his forehead, looking down at Mika the same way he’d looked at you the first night you spent the night together. Mika, who’d been eyeing you, had his gaze fixed firmly on Chris now. Eyes wide, he sighed as Chris moved in and out, in and out, opening you up, getting you accustomed to being so full.

“It’s like…” Mika began, but trailed off.

“Like what?” You could feel the whisper of Chris’ question across your back.

 _Out with it,_ you thought.

“Like it’s… you know. Like it’s us.”

“It _is_ us,” Chris said.

And then you had an idea. “Can we stand?” you asked. You knew they were strong enough to do what you were about to ask of them. You all got up. “Stand with your back against the wall,” you told Chris. “Mika, face him.” They obeyed, and you got between them, looping your arms around Mika’s neck. “Pick me up.”

Mika understood, and lifted you into the air; you slid onto his dick and locked your legs around his waist, and he backed you onto Chris.

Once they were inside of you, Chris wrapped an arm around your midsection, clasping a hand just below your breasts; his other hand supported your ass. Mika held you under the thighs. You turned, keeping one arm around Mika’s neck, flinging the other around Chris’ neck. “Yes,” you whispered. “Just like this.”

Chris pushed you forward onto Mika; Mika, with a moan, pushed you back onto Chris. They settled into a rhythm, passing you back and forth, back and forth. It was almost as if they were using you to fuck each other. You loved it. You were already sensitive, and you knew it wouldn’t take long—especially in this position—for you to come.

Their eyes, as you had guessed, were on each other. Chris bent to lick your breast and Mika put his lips around the same nipple; then their lips were together for one moment before Mika gasped for air and Chris thrust deep into you and you came, making a mess out of Mika.

Then you were on the bed again. You rolled to the side. Chris moved to touch you. “No,” you said, breathless, smiling, “your turn. It’s your turn.” You looked past him, to Mika.

That was all Chris needed. He turned to Mika and placed a hand on his chest, just looking at him for a moment; then he pulled him close and kissed him, his fingers finding Mika’s hair, and Mika wrapped his arms around him. You spooned Chris from behind, kissing his shoulder, playing with his curls; you wondered if he even registered the touch, with how engrossed he was in Mika’s kisses.

“Fuck,” murmured Mika, “you have no idea how many times I thought about this. I can’t believe we’re really doing this…” He trailed off, and Chris reached up to touch his face, tenderly.

“This feels right,” Chris said simply, and Mika nodded, and their lips met again.

After another minute, Mika pulled back, impatient. “I—well, who’s going to—I mean, are we—” He was painfully awkward, and you stroked his hip.

“I think Mika’s asking who’s going to get inside of whom,” you said, and Mika nodded, blushing.

Chris smiled. “Maybe it’s better to have you inside of me,” he said. “It might take some time to—”

Mika was as red as the bedsheets. “I bought a toy,” he spat out. “I bought one that was as big as you. I can take you. I know I can.” He reached for him, his fingers curling around Chris’ cock. “Please?”

Chris nodded. “All right.”

“Where do you—where do you want me?”

“On your back,” Chris said. “I want to see your face.”

Mika obeyed, spreading his legs, pulling them into the air to give Chris access, and Chris guided his cock to Mika’s opening. “You sure about this?” Chris asked.

 _“Yes,”_ Mika said, squirming impatiently. “Yes.”

You got up and positioned yourself behind Chris, knowing that he was used to having a finger inside of him, which was one of your favorite moves while you were going down on him, the same thing you’d done to Mika earlier. You set your hands on his waist, waiting for him to enter Mika. He poured lube into his palm and readied himself; then he coated two fingers and pushed them slowly inside Mika.

The sound Mika made was one of relief, of satisfaction, of a long-held wish finally being realized—and Chris wasn’t even inside of him yet, only his fingers. You knew exactly how Chris was touching him, knew exactly how his fingers were stretching gently within him, preparing him for what was to come. Chris was aware of his size, but not in an arrogant way; he knew he had to take the extra precautions so that he didn’t hurt his partner.

Whatever it was that Chris was doing, Mika loved it, judging by the sounds he made, by the way he bit his lip and lifted his eyes to Chris, wordlessly telling him how much he loved it. Your hands ran up and down Chris’ sides, and you thought you might be as impatient as Mika—you wanted to watch, you wanted Mika to be satisfied, you wanted Chris to come.

Later, you thought, you’d climb over Mika when Chris did this. Later, you would sit on his face, or wrap your fingers around his cock, or both. Later, you’d tell Mika to get on his hands and knees, and slide underneath, and let Mika in your mouth or maybe in _your_ ass. Tonight, though, was about them; tonight, you reminded yourself, you were going to be what they needed. And right now, you knew they needed to see each other, to look into each other’s eyes as this happened.

Chris removed his fingers, wiped them on a towel, and put himself back at Mika’s opening.

“Chris,” he begged, “ _please,_ don’t make me wait any longer…”

You dug your fingernails into Chris’ arms, urging him on. “He needs you,” you whispered into his ear, catching his earlobe in your teeth, kissing his neck. You knew what he was afraid of. “Trust him.”

“Tell me if I hurt you,” Chris said to Mika. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

He slid into Mika, slowly.

 _“Chris-s-s,_ ” Mika said, the last syllable of his name drawn out, a long, sibilant sound, and his eyes rolled back. “God. Oh, God. Ohhh—”

“Okay?”

“Yes. Yes.” He bit his lip again, and you were quickly growing to love this habit. “Chris, I—” Whatever he was going to say was interrupted by a long, low moan, as Chris was in as far as he could go now, and Mika couldn’t find words.

You kissed the base of Chris’ spine. “Your turn,” you said, and he turned to look over his shoulder. “Did you think I’d forget you?” Your fingers were ready, and you gently slid them inside of him. It was Chris’ turn to make a sound of appreciation before he returned his attention to Mika.

“You’re so _big,_ ” Mika whispered, his eyes glassy in the candlelight.

You could hear the smile in Chris’ voice. “Did you underestimate me when you bought that toy?”

He grinned. “Maybe a little. But I don’t want you to stop. This is perfect. You feel incredible.”

You moved with Chris as he took his time, easing almost fully out of Mika and then back in, again and again, until Mika had exhaled and let his head relax into the pillow. You knew this was Mika’s first time with a man; you’d been fucked in the ass by Chris more times than you could count, so you recognized what was happening to Mika’s body right now. It had adjusted. It was ready for more.

Chris recognized it, too. He picked up speed, rolling his hips, and Mika cried out. “Chris,” he gasped out. “Oh, God. Ohhh—” His eyes grew wide, and you couldn’t quite read the expression—pleasure? Amazement? Disbelief? Everything combined?

You focused on Chris’ motion, making sure your fingers did not slip out of him, but your eyes were locked on Mika’s face. You’d never seen him look this hot: hair splayed across the pillow, a flush across his chest, eyes half closed, legs spread.

“Mika,” your husband cried, and you knew that note, that tone, you knew it all too well. You could feel it, too, the little button your finger pressed inside of him getting harder. He was close—

—and then Mika came, and you noticed his fingers had curled around his cock but he wasn’t stroking, and you couldn’t believe Chris could do _that_ to him, but he was still repeating his name, _Chris, Chris, Chris,_ and you knew what Chris’ stomach must look like, and your knees went weak.

Chris came right after, emptying himself into Mika’s ass, and Mika’s eyes went wide as he reached out, placing a hand on Chris’ upper arm, holding on tightly as he rode his orgasm all the way to completion.

You withdrew and went to wash your hands. When you came back, Mika was still laying on his back; Chris was sitting at his side, a hand on Mika’s thigh. They were both smiling, half-delirious, and you couldn’t help yourself. “You’re both adorable right now,” you said.

“I’m a mess right now,” Chris said after a moment.

Mika smiled up at him. “I look good on you.”

You went in search of your bathrobe, and they rose to clean up. “I’m going to take a quick shower,” announced Chris, disappearing into the master bath.

When Mika emerged from the guest bath, you had one of Chris’ bathrobes for him, and the two of you padded down the stairs. As you crossed into the kitchen, he snaked an arm around your waist and smiled down at you. “I like this,” he said simply.

You mirrored his smile. “Me too.”

Before you could open the freezer, intending to take out some sorbet, he caught you by the waist and drew you close, kissing you deeply, imparting all the tenderness he possessed. “Your selflessness has given me the greatest gift,” he said quietly, holding you. “Thank you.”

You wrapped your arms around him. “I’m glad you finally got to have this.”

He held you, still, and you were hopelessly lost as his eyes roamed your face. “Not just Chris,” he said.

You wanted to say something, but you were still searching for words when Chris entered the room.

Instead of two of you, then, there were three—you and Mika sharing a bowl of raspberry sorbet, Chris eating whatever ultra-healthy thing he always went for, and the fleece blanket on the couch that you and Chris usually shared barely fit the three of you. And once you had finished your snack, there were three in bed, too. It was almost unspoken that Mika was staying the night. You curled up like normal, the little spoon, and Chris settled in behind you, an arm around you; but then there was Mika behind Chris, and his hand slipped in between the arch of your back and the flat plane of Chris’ stomach.

It felt good. It felt right. As you drifted off, you wondered how it had ever been any other way before.


	11. thoughts [november 4 / 15 / 23]

11\. thoughts  
[november 4 / 15 / 23]  
  


**_> you <_ **

November 4

I woke up this morning to both the smell of breakfast cooking and a man in bed with me. I wasn’t fully awake when he kissed me on the shoulder, and the second the lips hit my skin, I immediately remembered—and realized it was Mika. His lips feel different. I turned around, thinking maybe it would be a good time to ask him about what he said to me in the kitchen last night, but then he started kissing me and all I wanted to do was yield.

I can’t stop thinking about it, though. I know he loves Chris, but I hadn’t given a second thought to the fact that he might already have feelings for me. I thought that it would be slower in developing. We’ve been friends for so long—but then again, he and Chris have been friends for so long. I’m all mixed up. When I was working this week, I came across a quote of Nin’s that may be the wisdom I need right now: “In love there is no because, no reason, no explanation.” Maybe I just need to enjoy—to feel.

Maybe I need to stop jumping to conclusions. He hasn’t said anything yet.

**_> chris <_ **

November 15—This is the most important thing in my life and I don’t know how to write about it. I speak six languages and still, _still,_ even with the infamous German specificity, I cannot find the words to say what I need to say. The pen in my hand feels like a thousand-pound weight, a brick of gold, heavy and useless. How do I explain it? They are like gods to me. Chalice and blade. I would like to build a cathedral for how I love them. I would like to bend my ribs to form the cupola of the dome, each chamber of my heart a chapel. Or maybe they are elemental, fire and water. He is fire and summer, and she is water and winter, and somehow, though all laws of nature and all accepted logic say they should not be able to co-exist—that one must win over the other—they complement each other. They co-exist within me, equal. Maybe they are both.

the god of fire wears a halo

of sun-beaten gold and citrine,

smelling of fruit from bright orchards.

the goddess of the ocean is crowned

with ice and snow and diamonds,

smelling of flowers from dark gardens.

he is light and heat and flame,

a force of nature unable to be contained;

she is swell and dip and wave,

a violent beauty, her intensity unrestrained;

they are yin and yang.

his hottest flame is long enough to reach me at my core.

her mariana trench is deep enough to hold me to its floor.

for too long i thought i would be burned

until i learned my fingers were as embers—

for too long i thought i would drown

until i learned my waist was the beach.

but the mere human who dares to touch them

is not burned

nor drowned

but consumed.

**_> mika <_ **

Nov. 23

So much of my life is so great right now, but then there are those moments when I’m at home and I’ll like… find one of Allison’s hairs on a chair. Or see one of her bobby pins in a drawer. There are little bits and pieces of her everywhere still and I just want her gone. I know that if she hadn’t cheated, I wouldn’t be enjoying what I am right now, so in a way I have to be glad it happened. But I just want to erase her. But THEN, at the same time, I miss her. It’s so hard when we separated only because of her choices… I was ready to marry her.

But back to the good. I mean it’s more than good. It’s awesome. Crazy. All kinds of things. I wish I had the vocabulary that the Kreiders have so I could put into words what I’m feeling. It has been so easy to fall into this with Chris… I think that because we were never shy with physical affection, and we were always really close, it’s been natural to go to the next step. It’s been really nice to not have to hold back… I mean, in private, at least. It’s become so natural now to do certain affectionate things when I’m at their place or they’re at mine that it takes real effort to hold back when we’re in public.

And with her… I always liked her, but now I’m feeling some type of way. I love the way she plays with my hair. I love how she always saves a bit of a dessert for Chris and I to try. (Even though I usually eat both, because Chris is Chris). I love when she’s surrounded by piles of books with a pen behind her ear and one in her hand, and I love the way Chris looks at her when she’s like that.

And the sex is incredible. I can’t believe how good both of them are. I was honestly kind of afraid to have my first time with a guy be with him, but I’m so glad it was. Learning this with him has been the best experience. And the things she can do with her throat… and the way she rides me… so good.

I don’t know. I’m high on life right now. I’m happy with them; I just wish I could put it into words, and then go scream it from the rooftops.


	12. belle of the (bowling) ball [december 1]

12\. belle of the (bowling) ball  
december 1

Until today, most of your official dates had been of the Netflix and chill variety—not only because the sex was great and all three of you wanted to have as much of it as possible, but because you were really only free to be the triad you were under your own roofs. When you were out in the world, something as simple as reaching for Mika’s hand could cause eyebrows to raise and the rumor mill to start. It was New York, as Chris said—easier for pro hockey players to fly under the radar there than in, say, Saint Paul. Still, though, you all knew you had to be careful. It would only take one pair of eyes to break the whole thing open.

But as much as you enjoyed lounging in pajamas with Chris and Mika, watching Letterkenny and playing cards and making food, you wanted to go out and have a proper date. Mika had lit up at the idea and suggested bowling. Though you hadn’t been bowling in years, you thought it sounded fun, it was easily an activity a couple and their friend would do together, and Chris was all for it.

“I should have just bought shoes,” you were saying, your nose wrinkled as you carried your rented bowling shoes to the bench.

Mika did own bowling shoes, and was therefore already perusing the menu while you and Chris laced up your shoes. “Hey, Chris,” he called. “Everything on this menu is fried.”

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “You _know_ I allow myself to indulge once in a while. I am no longer a human dumpster, but sometimes I am a tiny human trash can.”

You settled on sharing a bunch of appetizers, then returned to the game.

“First rule of bowling,” Mika said, “no real names on the board.” He handed the tablet to Chris. “Pick your wife’s name.”

Chris thought a moment, then typed in _Belle._ “ _Beauty and the Beast,_ ” he said to you. “You’re beautiful, you’re smart, and your nose is always in a book.”

You laughed and took the tablet, sizing up Mika, who raised his eyebrows at you, waiting to see what you’d put in for him. You settled on “Mikael.”

“That’s so close to my _name_ name though,” he protested, and you held up a hand.

“Mikael Blomkvist, in _The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo,_ is Swedish, and is also the participant in a long-standing poly relationship.”

“Nice,” Chris said appreciatively.

Mika laughed, taking the tablet, and immediately filled in Chris’ name. “No umlaut,” he said, with a disapproving _tsk,_ as the word “alskling” appeared.

“What does _that_ mean?” Chris demanded.

“I thought you were fluent in Swedish?”

“Me too. Apparently I have words yet to learn.” He pulled out his phone, and Mika watched as he translated the word. A soft smile spread across Chris’ features. “Mikaaa,” he groaned, half exasperated, half pleased.

Mika blushed.

“What does it mean?”

“Älskling,” Chris said, returning his phone to his back pocket, “is a very sweet Swedish term of endearment.”

Mika shrugged. “‘Big jet, no pilot’ wouldn’t fit.” He deleted it and tapped out another name. “Okay, how about this?” The name read _David._

“Like the statue?” you asked, and Mika nodded.

“Well-built, incredible hair, captivates thousands of people…”

“My dick is not that small,” Chris said, mock-offended.

“David’s a grower, not a show-er,” Mika said sagely.

Laughing, Chris shoved him, picked up a bowling ball, and knocked over two pins.

“If I didn’t know better,” you said, kicked back, sipping your drink, “I’d say you were a little flustered.”

Mika sat next to you. “You know the greatest thing about bowling?”

Chris walked up and bent, concentrating. He was wearing your favorite pair of jeans, the ones that sat just low enough to show off his stomach if he were to raise his hands in the air, the ones that hugged his ass perfectly.­­­­­­­

“The view,” Mika said.

You smiled, admiring along with him as Chris let the ball go. One pin was left standing in the end, and Chris shrugged and sat down.

Mika was up next; he slipped an elastic from his wrist and put his hair up, getting it out of his face. Then he made a show of selecting _just_ the right ball, stepped up, and effortlessly bowled a strike.

“This is _not_ fair,” you complained. “I don’t even know how to throw a bowling ball.”

“Show me your stance,” Mika said.

“Stance?” You picked up a ball, walked up, and awkwardly pitched it down the lane. It went in the gutter.

Mika got up. “Okay. Let me help you.”

“Thank God, I need it.”

“Put your feet like this.” He stood beside you as you copied his feet, then set his hands on your waist. “Okay, step back like you’re going to bowl it.”

You did, and he kept his hands on your hips. “Okay, stop. Together with me. First, you step out with your right foot and move the ball out. Then step forward with your left and move the ball down. One more step and move the ball back to get ready to throw it; one more step, and you throw it.”

You blinked at him. “I’m here to eat chicken fingers and check out Chris’ ass in those jeans, not become Ernie McCracken.”

Chris lost it.

Mika laughed too. “Okay. You can walk, right? That’s easy enough?”

“Yes, Mikael Blomkvist. I can walk.”

“Okay, Belle. Let me stand behind you. I’m going to hold your wrist and move your arm. When I squeeze your wrist, re­lease the ball.”

He pressed up against you, and you couldn’t believe you were getting turned on at a bowling alley, but the way his fingers circled your wrist and the smell of his cologne were definitely doing things for you. You were glad that you had the lane at the end; you were glad that the nearest group was three lanes away. You wondered if Mika, too, was enjoying this like you were.

You took your four steps, and Mika tightened his fingers around your wrist, and you were _not_ thinking about bowling while your ball traveled down the lane and knocked out seven of the pins.

“Not bad,” Mika said.

“You gonna coach me?” Chris asked. “I’m not that good either, you know.”

The food arrived, and Mika snagged a french fry. “Let me teach you about axis rotation and geometry,” he said to Chris, batting his eyelashes, joking with him.

Chris perked up. “Tell me _all_ about those angles,” he said, and Mika laughed.

You grabbed a few onion rings while Mika joined him, showing him how to turn his wrist to get the right spin on the ball. The first try went right into the gutter; the second try, after Mika had taken his hand and wrist and gotten him used to the movement, he knocked them all over.

“Yes!” He threw his arms in the air, and Mika’s eyes landed on the strip of skin between shirt and jeans. You knew exactly where this night would lead, not that it was a surprise. When the three of you got in a room together, you couldn’t keep your hands off of one another.

“Your turn, Belle,” Chris said, smiling.

Trying to remember how Mika had guided you, you rolled the ball down the lane. A split.

“How do I recover from this one?” you asked Mika.

“Angles,” said Chris, and you sneered at him. He laughed.

Mika played coach the rest of the night, and he definitely preferred the hands-on approach. _Tilt like this,_ he’d say, placing his hands on Chris’ hips, and you couldn’t deny that it made you a little nervous to have this contact be so public. But if anyone recognized you, there was plausible deniability; Chris and Mika clearly didn’t have a lot of issues with being in each other’s personal space, and that was common knowledge. This wasn’t out of the ordinary.

You kept getting exasperated; bowling clearly wasn’t your thing. _C’mon, Belle,_ Mika would say, eyes bright, and you couldn’t say no to that wide smile. He was having too much fun teaching the two of you. If it pleased him, you’d have stayed at that lane for the rest of the night.

But after a few games, you were all ready to call it a night, so you hailed a cab and went back to Mika’s place. You’d hung your coat here so many times before, but now it was different; now you hung your coat up like you belonged here, not like you were just visiting. When you got up from untying your shoes, Chris already had his arms around Mika in the hallway.

“C’mon, Belle,” Mika said, grinning, Chris kissing his temple. “Come see what I got.”

You followed them into Mika’s bedroom. Gone was his queen-size bed; in its place sat a big California king. He took your hand. “We needed it, yeah?”

“We have to get one, Chris,” you said.

He nodded. “Most definitely.”

You thought, briefly, about how buying furniture with others in mind suggested permanence—then Mika tugged at your hand, and you fell into bed and promptly lost that train of thought.

xx

Afterwards, the three of you lay in bed together, Mika in the middle, you curled up at his side with your face on his chest, Chris in his arm on the other side.

“Are you coming to the game tomorrow?” Mika asked you, his voice muffled by your hair.

“Mm-hmm. I’m bringing my coworker Casey.”

“Vegas,” Chris mused. “Your favorite team to hate.”

“Seattle’s on my shit list too,” you reminded him. “Are you doing a morning skate?”

“Yup.”

You sighed. “Then we have to go home tonight.”

“Yup.”

The bed was soft, and Mika was warm, and you wanted nothing more than to just close your eyes and drift off to sleep.

Mika held on to you both for a moment longer. “I don’t want to let you leave.”

Chris rolled over and kissed his shoulder. “I wish we didn’t have to.” He laced his fingers with yours, and your two hands rested on Mika’s stomach.

“It’s just… really empty without both of you here now.”

Chris buried his face in Mika’s neck. “I don’t feel good about it. It doesn’t seem right that you should be alone while we go home together.”

“You’re still the primary unit,” Mika said, and he sounded a little sad. “And you can be public. It makes sense.”

“Okay, so we’re married,” you replied, “but I see this as an equal, three-way relationship. There’s no we’re the primary, you’re the extra… it’s just… us. Right?”

“Right,” Chris said.

“It just felt like you, as a unit, were dating me…” He trailed off. “This is confusing.”

“Yeah, it is. But god damn if it’s not the best and most rewarding confusion I’ve ever experienced.” Chris punctuated his sentence with another kiss on Mika’s shoulder and a squeeze of your hand. “You’re not a third wheel. We’re three partners.”

“What do we call each other? Not that I can really…” He sighed. “Tell anyone.”

“Belle, apparently,” you joked, and Mika smiled.

“She’s your girlfriend,” Chris said. “I’m your boyfriend.”

“What if this works?” Mika said. “What if… I mean, where are we… going?”

You propped yourself up on an elbow and ran your fingers through his hair. “Wherever this takes us.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I know it’s early. I know I shouldn’t be thinking about this. But four months ago I was getting ready to get married. Four months ago I had someone to get old and gray with. Is this just for fun, or are we thinking… that this could be long-term? If it works?”

“If it works,” you said carefully, “I would be happy to do this for the rest of my life.”

“It doesn’t have to be fleeting,” Chris agreed. “Obviously we can’t get another marriage certificate, but that doesn’t stop us from all committing to one another.”

“Just to be clear, I’m not pressuring, I just… I just wanted to know what was possible.”

“I know.” You kissed him. “You’re not just a fling.”

He reached up to touch your face, smiling. “Thanks, Belle.”


	13. text time [december 5]

  
  
  
  
  



	14. alone, together [december 14]

14\. alone, together  
[december 14]  
  


It had been a wonderful week spent alone with Mika. You’d been absentmindedly singing in the kitchen while making dinner the first night, thinking Mika had his headphones on. Unbeknownst to you, he’d taken them off for a moment, heard you, and proceeded to eavesdrop on you for a half an hour. _How did I not know you could sing?_ he’d said at dinner. You had allowed him to convince you to join him in his little makeshift studio— _I have all these little bits and pieces of music, and you can write, and your voice_ —and you couldn’t say no to those big brown eyes.

It was 9:30 p.m. by the time you sang him a few bars, your words to his music, and he looked at you as though you were a miracle. _Come to bed with me,_ he’d said, transfixed, and you were happy to acquiesce. Though it was a little strange to be in bed with him without Chris there, you enjoyed having his full attention; it was a nice change. You thought, then, that maybe they should have time to themselves, too. You smiled at the thought. After all, you and Chris still had nights when it was only the two of you; shouldn’t things be fair?

That first night had been achingly tender, Mika touching you as though you were made of blown glass, holding you so close that his hair brushed your face with every slow, intentional thrust. You fell asleep in his arms, Caroline Smith playing softly on his speakers, a candle flickering still on his dresser. Still, you couldn’t work up the courage to tell him what you knew: _I love you._

You settled into a comfortable pattern after that. In the morning, you’d wake up, tangled up with him, and just lay there for awhile, enjoying the moment. Both of you slept in the nude, which meant that there were a few instances of lazy morning sex, illuminated by the soft light filtered through his white curtains. When you got up, you took your time to craft a couple of delicious drinks with his new espresso machine while he made breakfast. Then you’d go into his studio and work on music together. You’d left your passion for music behind long ago, after deciding to dedicate your life to literature; you hadn’t really sung seriously since your college days. Sitting cross-legged on Mika’s floor, scribbling poetry on a legal pad while listening to his scraps of music, you felt a joy returning to you that you had forgotten. It felt wonderful. 

There were breaks in the routine, like the afternoon you put your arms around him and held him, telling him that _yes_ it was normal to cry over finding one of Allison’s invisible elastics in his little bin of thick black ones and _yes_ you understood why and _no_ you didn’t feel like he didn’t appreciate you and Chris. And then, while he napped, you quietly cleaned his apartment of every single thing that looked like hers, placing it all in an empty shoe box. When he woke up, you told him what you’d done, and he pulled you into a hug that seemed like it would last forever; and then he took the shoe box in one hand, took your hand in the other, and marched down to the trash chute to rid himself of all that was left of her. 

And then there was the unseasonably warm day that Mika decided he had to enjoy– at least a little. You took a cab and enjoyed a leisurely lunch at Serra in the glass-enclosed rooftop. It was too romantic there, amid the soft white lights and garlands of greens, and Mika couldn’t help himself; he smiled at you in ways that friends don’t smile at one another, shyly and a little bit giddily, a man drunk on more than spiced wine. After lunch, you did some wonderfully domestic grocery shopping downstairs before heading back to his place.

On nights the Rangers played, you ordered delivery and watched the game. The first game, against the Jets, they lost 5-2, and Mika refused to listen to the post-game commentary about Henrik and the question of his retirement. Everyone, you and Mika and Chris included, knew it was time for him to go, but none of you wanted to admit it; the Rangers weren’t the Rangers without the King, and it made you uneasy. 

In the second game, Shesterkin held Minnesota to one goal, which was scored by Mats Zuccarello. Mika had spent a few minutes texting with him after the game, no doubt both chirping and congratulating his friend. 

And in the third game, against Columbus, Artemi Panarin did what he had become infamous for doing to Columbus: he destroyed them. The final score was 6-2, and four of the goals belonged to him, a hat trick and an empty net. 

By the time the end of the week rolled around, both of you were going a little bit stir crazy. You decided to take the train out to Astoria. If there was something sweet Chris couldn’t turn down, it was a good cannoli, and you knew right where to get one.

Having eaten your own treats and retrieved the cannoli, you stood with Mika, holding hands, pressed together on the platform at Astoria Station. In your other hand, you held the little box from La Guli with the cannoli inside, which would be fresh when Chris’ plane came in tonight. 

A man wearing a Rangers jacket ascended the stairs, and you let each other go, stepping apart. Your fingers were electrified; you wanted him back, _needed_ him. It struck you that your need for Mika was like Anais Nin’s need for Henry Miller: a love, a lust, growing all at once, like slender trees twisting together, bending to each other’s will, as their roots grew together in the earth. You loved him nearly as much as you loved Chris, and you craved his body equally. Just his fingers, even, would be enough to sate you until you could have what you needed, but there was the man on the platform, bright blue jacket, eyes on Mika, brow furrowed as if he was trying to place where he knew him from. 

“This is what’s unbearable,” you whispered to him. “I wish we were anywhere else.”

“But when we get home,” Mika whispered back. Casually, he put the hood on his coat up, took out his phone, and tapped out a message; your phone buzzed as the train screeched to a halt and you chose a car away from the man in the jacket. 

You slid into a seat; the text, as expected, was from Mika. _Chris’ plane doesn’t land until 8, and I want to devour you until then._

The car was empty, save for a girl at the end with her headphones on, engrossed in her phone. You slid your hand between Mika’s thighs and squeezed, then withdrew. His jaw clenched, and it pleased you to be able to tease him like this.

When you finally got back to his penthouse, you quickly deposited the cannoli in the fridge and allowed him to pull you back to the bedroom, shedding your hat and scarf along the way; you hadn’t even been able to take your coat off before he pushed you onto the bed, and he unbuttoned it as he kissed you, as if he hadn’t just kissed you this morning, as if he hadn’t kissed you like this last night. 

It wasn’t long before you had all of your clothes off and Mika had pinned you to the bed, as promised, his face between your legs, his tongue running up and down, up and down, just savoring the way you tasted. You jumped every time his tongue touched your clit, and you groaned with frustration, reaching down to pull on his hair. “Mika,” you complained, “god damn it…”

He reached under your thighs, hooking his arms around them, and focused in on what you wanted. You rewarded him with a gasp and an _mmm_ and a whisper of his name. 

It was so different with Mika. While Chris was precise and methodical, his tongue laser-focused and pointed, Mika was chaotic, his tongue inside of you one second, at your clit the next, sucking a lip into his mouth, running his tongue along the edge. It seemed like he was everywhere at once. 

You pushed up against him, wanting more of that beard burn you loved so much; you felt him smile against you as he obliged, rubbing his face all over you, the rough feeling sending a thrill through your body. 

And then his tongue went back to work, flat against you one moment, pointed the next, and he held you fast as you shook and screamed and came, his name one long coda, _Mika, Mika, Mika–_

When he emerged from between your legs, his beard glistened with you in the glow of the sunset. “I’ve never tasted anything better,” he said breathlessly. 

“I won’t tell Chris,” you said, and he laughed.

You spread your legs, wordlessly inviting him in, and he slid inside; you were used to him now, but it was still a novel feeling to have him alone. He paused to grab an elastic from the bedside table, then bent forward, flipped his hair back, and pulled it into a messy loop. You didn’t know why you found that so hot, but you loved it, and you squeezed around him in appreciation.

Rolling your hips, you set the pace; you knew how impatient he was, but you wanted this to last. He took the cue and matched your rhythm, letting you settle on the bed while he took over. As he bent to kiss you, and you tasted yourself on his lips, one thing was certain in your mind; the two of you couldn’t get enough of each other, with or without Chris in the room. You had been harboring a nagging worry that he was only with you so he could have Chris, but everything about this week had erased that thought from existence: the way he couldn’t keep his hands off of you, the deep conversations at midnight, the hours spent creating music together.

It was when you looked up at him, into his dark eyes, that you realized that you’d been wrong on the platform. You loved him _as much_ as you loved Chris. You hadn’t known, at the outset, if that would be possible. Your heart beat faster, and even though you knew you were breathing fast and getting close, that was only a part of it. “Mika,” you cried, as he lost control and started fucking you harder, wanting to see you come. “Mika–”

“Come for me,” he whispered.

That did it. You cried out and arched against him, watching his face, seeing how close he was–

You reached up to touch him just as he came, and your eyes remained fixed on his face as he emptied himself into you. “I love you,” you said, as he came down, as he caught his breath, and he stopped breathing for a moment. 

A smile spread across his face, slowly, steadily. “You love me?”

You were laughing now at his disbelief. “Mika. Kiss me. I love you. I love you and I want to say it a million times.”

“I love you too,” he said, and pressed his lips to yours. 

\----------

After you’d cleaned up, you crawled back into bed. 

“I’m so glad,” you said, nestling into your favorite position under his arm, “that we got to do this. Stay together for a week, I mean.”

“I feel like it just made this whole relationship stronger.”

You nodded. “Me too.”

Your phone went off, and you reached over to grab it. “It’s Chris. He’s landed. He should be here in a half an hour or so.”

“Do you think we’ll be recovered enough to welcome him properly?” he asked, and you smiled.

Then Mika’s phone buzzed, and he grabbed it, figuring it was Chris. When he read the text, his face fell. 

“Who is it?” you asked.

“Zucca. Allison–” He broke off. “The Wild are playing the Isles tonight. He just saw her in a pizza place with Caden Bowe.”

“Is that the guy who just got traded there–”

“From Montreal, yeah. So she cheated on me, then dumped the guy she was cheating on me with to go fuck with Caden Bowe.” He sighed, exasperated. “I’m sorry. I need to get over it.”

“Mika, she hurt you. You loved her and she betrayed you. Let yourself mourn, let yourself be angry, let yourself be sad, and don’t beat yourself up about it. Deep wounds take years to heal sometimes.”

He put his arm back around you. “She would have never said anything like that to me. She hated when I showed any vulnerability. It made her feel so uncomfortable.” He paused. “Chris doesn’t. You don’t. I love you both so damn much.”

“And we love you.”


	15. a christmas pickle [december 24]

15\. a christmas pickle  
[december 24]

“Hey, Katie?” You opened another cupboard. “Do we have Hershey’s Kisses?”

“Probably still in the grocery bag,” said Chris’ sister, pulling a tray of cookies out of the oven. It was your third Christmas Eve with the Kreiders, and you loved how natural and comforting it already felt to fly to Massachusetts and fall into the traditions that were becoming so familiar. Chris’ mom and dad had made a quick emergency trip to the grocery store after discovering you were short of sugar, so the three of you were holding down the fort until they got back and you could start the next batch.

You rummaged through the paper sack until you found the package at the bottom. “Aha! Got ‘em,” you said, tossing them to Chris.

Katie was just bringing several cups of icing to the table, and the two of you set about mixing colors while Chris pushed Hershey’s Kisses into peanut butter cookies.

“So how’s life?” Katie said casually, stirring some blue and red drops into a bowl, working on perfecting a shade of purple.

“Good. I honestly think we have a chance at a playoff run this year.”

“How about your friend Mika?” Katie asked. “He’s a UFA at the end of the year—do you think it’ll be a trade?”

It was a taboo subject, one that the three of you never mentioned when you were together, and you could tell it pained Chris to talk about the possibility. “I don’t know,” he said lightly. “I hope he’ll stay. He’s a valuable member of the team, one of our best players.”

“And your best friend,” said Katie.

You pictured Mika, who had gone home for Christmas. You’d tucked a note into his wallet the morning he left: _It torments me to see you just a few hours and then surrender you._ It was an Anaïs Nin quote, apt for the situation. You had spent the morning in bliss under your sheets, the three of you, and caught planes bound for Sweden and Boston in the afternoon.

Chris sat next to you on one side, but the chair on the other side of you was empty, and you missed Mika terribly. _He belongs in that chair,_ you thought, rather petulantly, as the icing was mixed and pretzels lay drying on the counter and chocolate kisses were pressed. _We’re incomplete._

You could feel it from Chris; he felt the same.

“Yeah,” Chris said after a moment. “I think it would be a bad move to let him go, but even as coaches, we’re not always privy to the decisions the front office is making, and we don’t have a ton of influence there. I wish that was different. I would certainly be sad to see him go.” He looked up from his cookies. “I think my wife would miss him too. Tell Katie what you’re working on.”

You broke into a smile. “Music. We’ve been writing songs together. We might release something, if it ends up being any good.”

“Oh my god, really?” Katie brightened. “That’s so cool! How did that happen?”

You shrugged, setting aside a bowl of pink frosting and grabbing a new one. “I was hanging out with him at his apartment when he was hurt and didn’t go on the road trip, and I was singing in the kitchen while I was cooking, and he heard me. So I just kind of got dragged into it.”

She glanced quickly at Chris, who betrayed no emotion. You supposed it was strange for someone to just casually be making dinner at their husband’s best friend’s house while he was out of town, and realized how that must have sounded to her.

She set down her spoon. “I just thought,” she said. “I have a big present for Mom & Dad and I need help wrapping it.” She turned to you. “Since they’re gone, could you come upstairs and help me super quick? I need to drag it out and I don’t want them to see it.”

“Sure,” you agreed, though you knew exactly where this was going. As you followed Katie up the stairs, you sent Chris a quick text. _Can Katie know? She’s going to yell at me, I can feel it._

You went into Katie’s old bedroom, and she shut the door. “Okay. Before we wrap this thing.”

 _I knew it,_ you thought.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing with Mika. But you better not play. My brother loves you so fucking much and if you break his heart, _with his best friend_ , I will make you regret it.”

“Who says I’m doing anything?”

“You were literally alone with him, in his apartment, cooking dinner for him? And then you start singing on his tracks? Are you serious?”

Your phone buzzed in your hand, and you looked down. _Yes,_ it said.

“Katie, okay. Listen to me. Yes– it’s exactly what you think. But maybe not _exactly_ what you think.”

“I swear to fucking God.” Her tone and her eyes were murderous. She turned and fled the room. “Chris!” she called, thundering down the stairs, and you took off after her.

She swung around the corner into the kitchen. “Your wife is fucking your best friend!” she spat, glaring at you, one accusatory finger in the air.

Chris calmly finished unwrapping a Hershey’s Kiss, pressed it into a cookie, then looked up at her. “I know. So am I.”

Her arm dropped. “What?”

“I said _I know,_ and _so am I_.”

You watched her face as she put together the pieces. “Wait. You’re _both_ sleeping with Mika?”

“I was trying to _tell_ you,” you said. “The three of us are in a relationship together.”

“Oh my God,” she said, covering her mouth, looking back and forth from you to Chris; then she stepped up and cuffed her brother across the head. “I _knew it!_ ” she hissed.

“Ouch!”

“I _knew_ you had a thing for him. Oh my God. Oh my _God.”_ She threw herself into a chair. “How long has this been going on?”

“How do people _know?_ ” Chris demanded. “Kevin and Jocelyn _both_ said it too.”

Katie gave him a _you’ve got to be fucking kidding me_ look. “You are so smart, and so absolutely stupid.”

“It’s been going on for couple of months,” Chris said, answering her question. “Only three people know. Now you, so four. We would like to keep it that way.”

“Oh my God,” she said again. “What is this—like—are you—” She spoke haltingly, not sure what question to ask.

Chris raised an eyebrow, amused.

“You are all in love with one another?” she finally spat out.

“Yes.”

“Like, _love_ love?”

“Mika got us flowers for our one-month anniversary. I leave him little love notes. He calls her Belle,” Chris said, nodding at you. “I’d say it’s _love_ love.”

Katie looked at you. “What does he call Chris?”

You held up a hand. “I’m not going there. It’s not in a language I speak.”

“Oh my God. So how did you even—"

The front door opened. “We’re ho-ome!” Kathy sang out, and Katie immediately shut up. She was absolutely bursting, you could tell, as Kathy bustled around the kitchen and Dave washed his hands and re-joined the cookie production at the table, waiting for you to finish the batch of blue frosting before grabbing a gingerbread man and getting started.

You knew that Chris trusted his sister implicitly, so even though her mouth was drawn in a straight line and she kept chewing at her bottom lip, you trusted her not to spill the beans.

And she didn’t say a word, not even when you found the Christmas pickle and Kathy suggested they needed to bring in a ringer to beat you, though she did exchange a glance with Chris. She didn’t say anything when Dave brought up the possibility of Mika being traded again, saying he’d heard plenty of rumors; seeing her brother’s pained glance, she quickly changed the subject. She didn’t say anything when your phone and Chris’ phone both lit up at the same time during _Christmas Vacation,_ even though she saw the message in your group text with Mika over Chris’ shoulder: _Missing you both already and sending all my love._

She didn’t say a word, in fact, until Kathy and Dave had gone to bed. The three of you were in the kitchen, indulging in one last cookie before turning in for the night.

“Are you going to tell Mom and Dad?” she asked.

You hadn’t talked about this at all, and you waited to see how Chris would react. You had no idea how Chris’ parents would take this news.

Chris was quiet. “I mean, if this all works out—I’ll have to, won’t I?”

“What does ‘works out’ look like?” Katie said gently.

“I’m not sure yet. This is uncharted territory,” he said. “Neither of us have been in a poly relationship before. I suppose, though—if we reach a point when we feel like this is going to be a permanent arrangement—if they come to visit and Mika is living with us—” He pressed his palms into his eyes. “I’m going to have to come out and then declare that I’m in a poly relationship at the same time. Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.”

“How do you think they’ll take it?” you asked.

Chris shrugged. “I’m lucky enough—we know that they aren’t radically bigoted. I honestly think they’ll have a tougher time understanding a three-person relationship than a same-sex one. I suppose I just don’t want to say anything yet. Not until we know this is going to last.”

“I feel like it is,” you said.

“That’s my instinct, too. But maybe—maybe next year around this time.”

“So you can bring the ringer home for Christmas to beat her in finding the pickle,” she said, elbowing you, and you laughed.

–---------

Later, when you and Chris were back under the covers after a quiet late-night quickie, you wrapped your arm around his waist. “I love you so much,” you said, your nose touching his, and you were grinning.

He returned your smile. “I love you, too.”

“I remember when we were laying here for the first time. How much did you want to say that to me?”

“A lot,” he said, exhaling a quiet laugh. “God, we danced around it forever.”

“We got there in the end.” You kissed him again. “Seems to be a theme in your life.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“Do you feel his absence?”

He sighed and kissed you on the forehead, resting his chin on the crown of your head. “I really do.”

“What are the odds he’s awake right now?”

“He’s 6 hours ahead of us… it’s about 7:30. He might be.” He grabbed his phone from the nightstand. “Should we wake him up?”

“Let’s do it.”

You turned onto your backs, each of you with an airpod in so you wouldn’t wake anyone up with your conversation, and Facetimed him.

It took a minute. When he finally answered, he was laying on his back in bed, shirtless, hair messy, eyes still half-closed. “I wouldn’t have answered this call from _anyone else,_ ” he said sleepily. “I _know_ you’re smart enough to realize how early it is here.”

“We missed you,” Chris said simply.

“God, we’re disgusting,” Mika said, but he was smiling. “I fucking miss you both so much. We’ve been apart for _three days._ ”

“Okay, but this time, there are thousands of miles between us. I can’t just take the train and come see you,” you pointed out.

The moment the words left your mouth, you thought again about the possibility that the Rangers would trade him, and that this would become your new normal. You felt sick thinking about it, about having him torn away from you just as you were beginning to work out what all this meant to you. You couldn’t help it; a few tears slipped out, and you wiped your eyes.

“Hey, Belle,” he said gently. “What’s—”

“We’re not talking about it,” you burst out, as quietly as you could. “You’re thousands of miles away. If they trade you—” you broke off.

The pain was evident—he wanted to reach out to you, but he couldn’t, and Chris wrapped an arm around you, brushing tears away. “We’ll work it out,” Chris said.

“I’m bringing your favorite thing home from Sweden,” Mika said, trying to help. “I remembered your love for rose glögg. I’ve already bought a few bottles to bring back.”

“You’re amazing.”

You talked for a while longer, while the sun rose in the window behind Mika’s bed, until you were yawning so much your eyes were watering for a different reason. Your head rested on Chris’ shoulder, and you fought to keep your eyes open, but the call of sleep was winning.

“She’s asleep,” you heard Chris say, a smile coloring his words, and you were too tired to protest. “I’m gonna go. I love you.”

“I love you too. Tell her the same for me.”

“I will. Merry Christmas,” he said, and ended the call.

“’M not asleep,” you said, your words slurred.

“Close enough.”

“Don’t let them trade him,” you said, drawing nearer to him, throwing an arm around his bare chest.

He squeezed you tightly and kissed you on the head, just as he always did before you slept, just as he’d been doing for years now. “Maybe we’ll be lucky, and the only problem we’ll have to solve is how to fit three of us into this bed next year.”

You smiled into his neck, drifting off to sleep.


	16. thoughts [january 6 / 20 / 24]

16\. thoughts  
[january 6 / 20 / 24] 

**_> chris <_ **

January 6—These past two days have been a ride from start to finish. We were on the couch together yesterday, cuddled up under the blanket and watching a movie, when the doorbell rang, and there was Mika on our doorstep. There was a fire at his building; the elevator shaft was damaged and a big portion of the metal stairwell is unstable. The apartments on the lower floor of the building are almost all a total loss. He heard from the building today, and they think his place is fine—maybe a little smoke damage, but that’s all—but he currently has no access to his place, and won’t for at least a few weeks. So he’s going to stay here with us.

He didn’t need this. He’s got too much to deal with right now. I know we all talk a good game to the media about how we don’t let big trade rumors affect us. Zucca said it when it was his name in the headlines, I said it back when it was me, and now Mika’s saying it. It’s true that you can’t let it affect you on the ice, but it’s a straight up lie that we don’t ever think about it. It’s tearing him apart. At the morning skate, they asked him to make his list, the teams he’s willing to go to, and he showed it to me before he turned it in. Islanders, Philly, New Jersey, Boston, Buffalo, Caps, Montreal, Ottawa, Pittsburgh, Toronto—he based it all on proximity. And then he wrote a note on the bottom: “Ideally, none of these. My heart’s in New York. Keep me here and I’ll give you all I’ve got for the rest of my career.” I was a goddamn mess when I saw it. I knew exactly what he meant. What do we do if they do let him go?

We went home, and I curled up with him for his pre-game nap. We woke up to our incredible partner, who had arrived home while we were sleeping, making chicken and pasta for Mika’s pre-game meal. You’d think all of this would make me feel better, but it made me feel worse—we’ve been living together two days and already we’re developing a natural rhythm. This _works._

And then we get to the rink, and he’s wearing one of my suits that doesn’t fit him quite right because he hasn’t gotten a replacement, and we slept so closely together that I can still smell his cologne on me, and I stand behind the bench and watch him score two goals and get three assists against Montreal, and I want to kiss him for it, but I can’t. The three of us had to calmly keep ourselves under wraps until we got home and we could tear each other’s clothes off in the privacy of our bedroom and reward Mika for his performance on the ice. We put him on his hands and knees on the bed, and she ate his ass while I went down on him; then, after he came, we let him just lay there and watch while I fucked her. It was a good night.

Back to this trade, though. There are ways to solve our cap issue. Will fucking Underwood needs to go. And if they keep that toxic asshole and trade Mika, I am going to go to war with the front office. My boyfriend has earned his goddamn spot on this team. He’s earned a paycheck. And they better give it to him.

**_> you <_ **

January 20

Mika has now been living with us for two weeks. Here are some things I’ve learned as part of this poly triad:

1\. There is no “normal” sleeping arrangement. I’m always little spoon, but sometimes I’m big spoon at the same time.

2\. When I am in the middle during sleeping, and Mika is my little spoon, his hair always tickles my nose. Always. Without fail.

3\. People have different philosophies about cupboard organization. Some people think baking needs belong in one cupboard and cooking needs in another. Chris and I are not those people. Our kitchen has literally never been so organized.

4\. Sometimes you walk in the front door after a day of work and one of your partners is getting a blowjob from the other on the couch.

5\. I like to watch _way_ more than I thought.

6\. Deciding what to make for dinner is infinitely more difficult with three people.

7\. There IS a way for all of us to cuddle on the couch, as impossible as that may seem.

8\. We need a bigger couch.

9\. The sheets make a funny shape when you have a guy with morning wood on either side of you.

10\. Dinah plays favorites, and she LOVES Mika, and it’s adorable.

11\. Mika is a sucker for these cats.

12\. I always assumed it would be all threesomes all the time. Not so. Sometimes I just want to work on my book, and Chris and Mika go to bed together. Sometimes Chris is absorbed in a book and Mika and I go to bed together. Sometimes Mika is in the middle of writing a song and Chris and I go to bed together. It works out to create a pretty natural balance.

13\. Mika makes fucking excellent sex playlists.

14\. Cleaning the house is way faster with three people.

15\. Anaïs Nin fucking wishes she had it as good as I do.

**_> mika <_ **

January 24

Got my journal back from my place, since I can actually access it now…

…still living in Throgs Neck though.

When my building let me know the elevator was available again, I wanted to go back to get my stuff, but… I didn’t want to leave my partners. They were fine with that. So I packed up some clothes and a few other things, and headed back. I’m not sure exactly how we’re going to keep this up. The guys know I was living with Chris because of what happened to my penthouse, and I’m sure I can make it believable that I can’t be back in there for a _little_ while, but I’ll have to go back home at some point.

I’ve been here a little over two weeks, though, and _this_ already feels like home. I love having all of us together. I love the normalcy of nights that we’re home together—him cross-legged on the sofa, reading a book, me stretched out with my feet on his lap, working on my laptop, her spread out on the floor with her papers and books and laptop, writing her book about Anaïs Nin. Or him in the kitchen making dinner, while she and I work on music. We already have one song nearly finished, and now she’s working on lyrics for another.

The all-star break starts tomorrow, and we get on a plane tomorrow. We’re taking a trip together. Away from here. Somewhere that we can just be _together,_ somewhere that people won’t know us. We’re going to Coco Bodu Hithi in the Maldives. An island—just for us.


	17. private paradise [january 30]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the All-Star Break, the Kreiders and Mika take an indulgent vacation in the Maldives.

17\. private paradise  
[january 30]

You sat on the beach, a glass of riesling in your hand, Mika’s lips on your bare shoulder. The sunset over the Indian Ocean was dazzling, ribbons of red cloud drifting over wisteria skies, purple fading into a golden glow, reflected in the sparkling mirror of the ocean.

It had been an incredible week. You’d arrived at the airport in the Maldives on Thursday, tired from the flight, and were taken to the island on a yacht from the airport. You were so exhausted that you barely had time to marvel at the majesty of the place. You only were able to register that the staff, whom you had been assured were discreet, had honored your request; there were three sets of pillows on the bed. You crawled under the covers, laid your head on Chris’ shoulder, felt Mika’s arm drape around your waist, and fell asleep.

And then, for a week, it was like the world outside Coco Bodu Hithi didn’t exist.

You spent the first night with a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice next to the huge blue daybed on your private deck, watching the sun set. As it slipped below the horizon, you flattened the bed and lowered the shades on the sides and back and turned your attention to one another; you had to be quiet, you knew, out here where sound would travel, and having Chris’ lips on yours to swallow your scream while Mika made you come really wasn’t so bad. When you were all satisfied, it was Chris who pointed skyward in wonder; you were so used to New York that the sea of stars in the sky seemed impossible. The three of you lay on your backs, your head on Mika’s shoulder, Mika’s fingers laced with Chris’, staring up at the sky, until your eyelids grew too heavy and you fell asleep.

Breakfast was brought to you the next morning, and it was odd to allow someone to see the three of you together like this. The daybed on the deck folded up, so that you could fully extend your legs while reclining. When the staff arrived with breakfast, Mika was sitting up, shirt off; Chris sat between his legs, his head leaning against Mika’s chest, also _sans_ shirt; and you laid on your stomach beside Chris in a tank top and shorts, his hand resting just under your shirt, on the small of your back, while you wrote a journal entry in the light of the rising sun. Mika’s arm was draped over Chris’ shoulder, and he absently stroked Chris’ chest as you all listened to the calming music of the lapping waves. The woman who carried the breakfast tray betrayed no judgment even if she was judging; she simply presented your food and left you in peace.

That afternoon, you were taken by boat to a nearby sandbank, where you donned snorkeling gear and slipped into the clear aquamarine waters, exploring the reef. You joined a school of silvery fish, while Mika counted sea stars and Chris put his waterproof camera case to work, snapping seascapes and taking his fair share of photos of you and Mika, too. You had lunch on the sandbar in your swimsuits, drying out under the sun, listening to the birds sing as they soared across the sky. You were far enough away from any eyes that Chris felt comfortable slipping a hand between your legs while Mika took a turn underwater with the camera; his fingers slid into you and he watched you, laid out in the sun on your towel, squirming as he brought you to an orgasm right there. And when Mika surfaced and saw the afterglow and heard the last bits of your ragged breathing, he looked at Chris with mock offense: _what about me,_ he said, and Chris waded with him into the water until everything below their hips disappeared. Chris held him at the waist, and his other hand disappeared, and Mika’s face revealed everything that was going on beneath the water. You were tempted to grab your snorkel and the camera, if you were honest.

After night fell, you were ready to indulge in one another again. You had made absolutely sure that there were no sightlines to your villa earlier that day, and once it was confirmed that you were absolutely secluded, you stepped out onto your deck without a stitch of clothing on and, this time, left the shades on your daybed folded up. It had been your idea to do this, but you felt exposed at first, and shy, so Mika and Chris put themselves on either side of you to make you feel less on display. They plied you and teased you with kisses, and hands, and every move they knew drove you crazy; Chris drew his tongue along your hairline at your neck, Mika sank his teeth into your collarbone, Chris traced one light, soft line up your spine with his index finger, and before long, you were squirming and ready and the warm air on your bare skin was a thrill. You and Mika had already agreed Chris was going in the middle, so you got on your back, and Chris got inside of you, and Mika got inside of him. You thought you’d never forget this night; the images were seared into your brain. Mika’s long, dark hair against his moonlit skin, blowing in the gentle breeze, getting stuck to his forehead as he bent to kiss Chris’ back, as he locked eyes with you; Chris’ face, always so alive with expression, was no exception tonight, and you were glad you’d lit the jar candles, because the flickering light allowed you to see every crinkle around his eyes, the contrast of his eyelashes against his cheeks as he squeezed them shut, and the warning in his eyes as he gripped your shoulder and came, the combination of you around him and Mika inside of him just too much to handle.

On Sunday, you went out into the ocean again. This time, you went with a marine biologist. Chris had especially been looking forward to this ever since he read about it. The island had a dedicated team of marine biologists, who took naturally broken pieces of coral and used them to help rebuild, planting them in the island’s lagoon. _There’s a little world under the water that is monitored and measured over time,_ Chris had read from the website, _and guests are invited to build on this and add their name or a dedication to the structure._ You spent a few hours out there, and when you left, you had added a piece of the structure supporting the coral. It bore all three of your initials. _That’s so romantic I could vomit,_ said Jocelyn, when you texted her later to tell her about it, and you smiled before putting your phone down to enjoy your seafood dinner, which had been freshly caught that afternoon. You were pleased that they had subtracted the shrimp and gave extra fish to Chris, who was allergic to the piles of shellfish you and Mika had on your plates.

After dinner, you slipped into the warm water of the jacuzzi in your room that easily fit the three of you, leaving the doors open. You spent the night just talking. _I don’t want to move out now that I’m living with you,_ Mika admitted, and you and Chris agreed that it would feel empty without him. _Plus, Dinah would miss me,_ he added. He finally opened up about how terrified he was to be traded, and how he’d told his agent that he was willing to take less money if it meant that he could stay with the Rangers, and how he’d personally gone to talk to Davidson himself. _He wanted to know why I was so determined to stay,_ Mika said, _and I talked about my dedication to the team, which is true—but I also told him I wanted to stay in the city for personal reasons, though I didn’t really divulge what those were. Everyone knows I broke up with Allison, so who knows what he’s thinking?_ This gave way to talking about the future— _it’s been three months,_ Chris pointed out, and you toasted to each other, giggling as you spilled a little of the wine the sommelier had brought for you after dinner, kissing each other all at once. It was you who said it: _it’s early still, I know, but right now, I don’t ever want this to end. We belong with one another. Everything about this feels right._ As the night went on, the talk moved from the emotional to the pragmatic, as you talked about realistic possibilities for going public. Not until after this season, you agreed, and not until you’d had time to speak with your families first. You’d wait until after the trade deadline, and if Mika wasn’t going to be a Ranger next year, it wouldn’t matter whether Chris was coaching there or not; if he was just playing for the Islanders, or for New Jersey, nothing much would need to change. If they sent him to Montreal, though— _maybe a change of scenery,_ you said gently, giving Chris permission. _I can write from anywhere in the world._ By the time you went to sleep that night, an amount of uncertainty was gone. All of you were committed to the next step in this relationship.

Today, you’d decided to take your morning shower in the outside shower instead of the inside one. You could see Mika and Chris through the window: Mika sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling Chris to him by his dick, Chris straddling his lap, the two of them falling over onto the bed together, Mika going down on him. He couldn’t take Chris as far down his throat as you could—yet. He was determined, though. Chris turned his head and met your eyes, and when he saw you watching the two of them, a slow smile spread across his face. You took the showerhead down and stood there, back against the wooden partition, and spread your legs, letting the warm jets of water hit your swollen clit as you watched Mika go up and down, up and down, as Chris moaned and arched but never stopped looking at you; and then, when Mika had swallowed and was wiping his mouth, Chris gestured to the window. Mika saw you and wrapped his fingers around his own cock; you came almost instantly, toweled off, and climbed on top of Mika, riding him until he came.

The afternoon saw you go for a sail, and then you relaxed in the infinity pool on the deck of your villa before heading down to the beach for dinner. A pergola was set up, four gauze curtains secured to the poles, a ring of votive candles stuck in the sand. As the sun began to go down, the three of you were served the first of a five-course meal. You even had music, thanks to the sunset song of the lorikeets dotting the trees in the distance. Though the food was delicious, your favorite course was dessert; the chef, clearly having been informed of your relationship status, had drawn interlocking hearts on your dessert plates. Not the traditional two. But three.

And now you’d had your fill of food, and the sun was down and the candles were guttering, and Mika was behind you, kissing your shoulder. “C’mon, Belle.”

You took his proffered hand, and Chris took his other hand, and you ambled back up the beach together for your last night in paradise. Outside, you’d decided. One last night on the blue bed in the warm ocean breeze.

You were the first one undressed. You left your clothes in the room and went out to stand on the deck alone for a moment, letting the wind toss your hair and caress your skin. The stars twinkled in the sky.

“Come closer to me,” whispered Chris, coming up from behind you, circling his arms around your naked waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. “I promise you it will be beautiful.”

You recognized the words, and it touched you to know that he’d been reading your manuscript. You thought of the hours spent with him on your Tsvetaeva book, the nights in front of his office fireplace, the furrow in his forehead as he translated Russian while you typed furiously at your keyboard, knowing you still had a stack of term papers to correct. The stress of that life was gone; the joy of it remained, and now it had multiplied.

You turned, smiling, and responded in the love language you’d shared since before you’d used the word _love:_ a quote from a book. “Tonight, I love you, for the beautiful way you have given me the earth,” you said softly to him.

He held you. “No. You’ve given _me—_ ”

“We’ve all given each other,” you interrupted, and he smiled.

Mika emerged then, and Chris reached out to touch his face as he walked past, climbing into the daybed. You both joined Mika, and he turned to Chris first, threading his fingers into his curls, pulling him in for a kiss. You curled up behind Mika and spread kisses across his shoulders, finding every dark freckle in the moonlight, curling your fingers into the crease where his ass met his thigh, pressing against him. Chris’ hand reached over Mika’s body to find you, and his fingers trailed along the curves of your body, making your hair stand on end.

Your hand slipped between Mika’s legs, and you grabbed his cock, which was already hard against Chris. Mika pressed his ass against you and turned to face you, a little smile on his lips. “Do you need me that badly? What if Chris needs me, too?”

Chris kissed his neck, his hands on Mika’s shoulders. “Let’s give her what she wants, yeah?” He closed his lips around Mika’s earlobe. “Then I’ll give you what you want.”

Mika kissed you, a palm on your chest. “Insatiable,” he said between kisses. “Impatient.”

“Inexhaustible,” you added, and he let out a soft chuckle.

“Yes,” Chris said from behind Mika, reaching around to rest a hand on his inner thigh, “wordplay as foreplay. Now I’m hard.”

“You _are,_ ” Mika said, who could certainly feel Chris’ cock against his ass.

“Inside,” you told Mika, your tone insistent.

He smiled. “Not yet.”

He kissed down your body and settled between your legs, his tongue flicking out from between his lips, hooking his arms under your thighs. Chris stayed beside you, fingers in your hair, his lips pressed to yours, softly, passionately. You wondered why people thought threesomes were only about unleashing rabid desire; you wondered why no one ever stopped to consider the amount of love that could exist in a bed with three people. Here, now, you certainly felt the latter.

Mika knew your body well, and though you could tell he was in the mood to savor, he didn’t tease. You were near orgasm in minutes, breathing hard, moaning softly into Chris’ lips. The breeze swept over you. Chris’ lips on you, Mika’s tongue, both pairs of hands, their fingers—your body was awash with sensations, and you came as Mika held you firm, following your every movement with his mouth.

He surfaced, beard wet with your cum, sweaty from exertion, and smiled. Wordlessly, he descended the few stairs to the water and jumped into the ocean water, cooling off, letting you wash away. He grabbed a towel and dried off a little, then flung his hair forward and back, sending a spray of water across the deck.

Chris watched him, too, and it was too much; he pulled Mika close when he came back, pushed him onto the bed, and took his cock down his throat in one long, leisurely motion before coming back off.

“Tease,” Mika protested.

“You can’t just _do_ that,” Chris said.

He blushed a little. “Your turn?” Mika asked, and Chris crawled between your legs.

“Hey,” you said, “hey—”

But Chris’ tongue was already on you. You were still sensitive from Mika, but you’d had just enough time to rest, just enough time to recover, and you knew within moments that you’d be able to come again.

Mika got behind you, crossed his legs, and pulled you back, making Chris follow. Your head lay in his lap and he played with your hair, let his hands wander to your neck, your chest.

“Kiss me,” you begged him. You wanted his lips on you.

“Mmm. Later. I love watching him work, baby girl. I know he’s good with that tongue on you. Isn’t he? He’s so good with that tongue on me.”

You wanted him to talk forever. Your head rolled to the side, and his cock was against your cheek, pulsing, and you wanted it in your mouth, but you didn’t have a good angle. _Oh, but his hands—_ they were everywhere, they’d reached your nipples, two little buds on fire, and you squirmed under Mika’s hands, in Chris’ grip.

“He’s got you so close,” Mika said to you. Then, to Chris: “Make her come, älskling. Yes. God, you’re so beautiful like this,” and you were no longer sure who he was talking to, but it didn’t matter; you came again, and Mika tightened his fingers around your nipples, and you relaxed into the bed.

Mika got to his knees. “ _Now_ I’ll get inside of you.”

Chris lay at your side as Mika slipped into you. You were as wet as the ocean below after each of them had taken a turn with you, and you trembled as he moved in you. His motion was slow, deliberate, and again, you knew he wanted to savor your last night together in the middle of this isolated paradise. Each meeting of your bodies was soft, like the kisses you’d given each other early on in the night. His pelvis kissed yours. His cock was like the tongue slipping into the mouth of your vagina. You thought about the way you’d loved each other that first night without Chris, the tenderness with which he’d held you.

And Chris, lying next to you, swept the hair from your face and kissed you on the temple and the shoulder and the breast, wrapping his lips around a taut nipple, playing it softly with the tip of his tongue.

Your body was on fire—you thought you’d combust before you came. It was too slow, too delicate, but the gradual build of ecstasy was one of the things you loved most. Chris knew it all too well, and Mika had evidently learned this by now. You wanted to plead with them, you wanted to beg them to let you come, but you surrendered to them; you trusted their every decision, their every move.

You could not, however, keep your body from responding; you could not stop your back from arching and your arms from locking around Mika’s neck in an attempt to solder yourself to him, to weld yourself to him. You could not control the way your lips crashed against your husband’s, harsh, voracious, desperate. You could not cease the whispered supplications to the two men whose bodies you had worshipped for so many nights in a row: _please, God, please, I need—I need—_

And then you got exactly what you needed, as your body became overwhelmed and the warmth spread from your core all the way up to your fingers and down to your toes and you alternated their names, _Mika, Chris—Mika—god, yes, Chris—_ and you were spent.

Mika, though, was not, and Chris had made him a promise. “Don’t leave her,” Chris told him, getting up. “Stay there. Stay inside of her. Face down.”

He obeyed, and leaned down to kiss you while Chris readied himself. “You like when I fill you, don’t you?” He pushed a strand of hair from your face, and you nodded. “I love it every time,” he said softly in your ear. “It feels like I’m claiming you. _Ma belle,_ ” he smiled.

“I didn’t know you spoke French,” you teased.

He shrugged. “Chris teaches me things sometimes.”

“I am yours, though.” You reached for his hand. “I belong to both of you now.”

His eyes met yours for a moment before Chris entered him, and Mika gasped, his eyes rolling back.

“Stay still,” Chris instructed him, reaching forward to grab a handful of wet hair. “If you can.”

You appreciated the tease he was about to deliver to Mika, and you wrapped your arms around him, holding your hips to his, so that he couldn’t move in you even if you wanted to. He cried out and you felt him inside of you, hard and throbbing and full of need, but if there was one thing Mika did well, it was to obey. He didn’t move an inch, no matter how much you knew he was aching to.

Chris rocked against him, taking his time just the way Mika had when he was inside of you. Mika moaned into your ear, his fingers grasping at the pillow.

“He’s good with that dick inside of you, isn’t he?” you murmured to Mika, echoing his words from earlier. “I know what he can do to me when he’s in my ass. Makes me come everywhere. He’s going to do the same thing to you.” You dragged your teeth along the curve of his ear. “He’s going to make you claim me.”

“Chris,” he sighed into your neck. “Chris, please. Please…”

You loved watching him fall apart like this, and Chris was so good at making him do it. Mika’s head tilted back, and his eyes were like the moon: full, round, glowing. You locked eyes with him. “Keep telling him how good it feels,” you instructed, and he dropped his face against your shoulder again.

“God, Chris… Chris, please, let me, Chris—”

Chris grasped his ass and pulled him apart so he could go even deeper, and Mika yelped. “You’ll come just like this, won’t you?” He twisted Mika’s hair around his fingers. “I know you can.”  
  
“I will,” he said. “Anything. Anything you w-want—”

At heart, he just wanted you both to take charge.

You continued to hold him as Chris fucked him, picking up his pace now, the two of you still not allowing Mika to move in and out of you. It was torturous, you could tell; but just like when Mika was drawing it out earlier, it was the most delicious form of torture.

He started trembling in your arms, and you knew he was close. “Say his name,” you told Mika.

“Chris,” Mika moaned. “Chris— _Chris—_ ”

You felt him unload inside of you first and you held him fast as he shook and cried out and came inside of you, and then you kept him there while you watched Chris’ orgasm build, while Chris dug his fingers into Mika’s hips and threw his head back and came inside of Mika.

After catching your breath, the three of you leapt into the ocean below, treading water, laughing in the shadow of your deck, then toweled off and returned to the daybed for one last sleep beneath the canopy of stars.

Before you drifted off to sleep, you thought about how fervently you wished you had more time here. A little nagging feeling, deep within your gut, told you that nothing this perfect could last forever. Not untouched.

Then Chris pulled you closer, and you allowed the crashing waves to wash that little voice away.


	18. call me back to you [february 10]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Will Underwood comes back early from a Tinder date gone wrong, he discovers a new tidbit of information about Mika. His reaction causes Mika to second-guess everything.

18\. call me back to you  
[february 10]

It was all happening while you slept, peacefully unaware, alone in your bed.

The Rangers were on a road trip. It was their last night on the road, and they were staying in Edmonton before playing a noon game the next day.

Mika’s normal road-trip roommate, Jesper Fast, was home with a broken finger. And Will Underwood was without his usual roommate too, since Brendan Lemieux was out with a concussion. They’d been assigned to a room together, and both of them grudgingly dealt with it. They were teammates, after all, and no matter how much Mika wanted to punch his lights out, they still had to work together for the common good of the team.

But then Underwood announced he’d found a girl on Tinder and wouldn’t be back until around midnight. _Stupid,_ Mika thought. _We have a fucking game tomorrow. Get your sleep._ But he hadn’t said that. He’d just asked him not to be too loud when he came back.

And then Mika started to fantasize about calling Chris, who was a floor up, and having him come down for a tryst before sleep; he knew it was completely unrealistic, but he couldn’t get the idea out of his head. He pulled out his laptop and opened his web browser. He had to do _something_ to satiate himself.

But what Mika didn’t know was that Underwood’s Tinder date stood him up, and he was back at the hotel not even a half an hour after he’d left. “Fucking crazy bitch,” he was saying when he walked in, “she—”

And he stopped short.

Mika froze, hastily pulling a pillow over his lap, but the video on his computer kept playing: one man bent over a table, eyes shut, moaning with pleasure, another man buried balls deep in his ass, spanking him as he fucked him.

“You’re fucking watching gay porn,” Underwood spluttered, “Jesus fucking Christ, no wonder you were defending f*gs that day, you _are_ one, _Jesus Christ!”_ He backed out of the room, screaming from the hall at Mika that he wasn’t going to share a room with a _goddamn f*g._ “They better fucking trade you. How the fuck can anyone share a fucking locker room with you? You’re fucking disgusting—"

It was Pavel Buchnevich who threw his door open first, as Mika finally silenced his laptop and pulled his pants up and came into the hallway. “What the fuck is your problem?” Pavel was up in Underwood’s face.

He repeated himself. “Our captain’s a fucking f*g and I’m not sleeping in the same room with him. Fucking. In there jacking off watching gay porn.”

Pavel looked at Mika, who stood there in defeat, eyes downcast, looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

“Move your shit then, asshole,” he said to Underwood. “I’m not afraid to share a room with him.”

Heads were popping out of doors. Artemi and Igor appeared from their room, and held a quick hushed conversation in Russian with Pavel. As Underwood crossed the hall with his bag, Artemi curled his fingers into a fist, but Igor put a hand on his shoulder. “Позднее,” Igor said. _Later._

It was then that Mika looked down the hallway. A teenager, in his pajamas, was standing at the end of the hall, holding a phone up. Recording, no doubt. “Fuck,” Mika spat, and Igor saw him instantly—he started off down the hallway, but the kid disappeared into his room.

Once Underwood was out, Mika flung himself into his bed and covered himself with the comforter, but Pavel pulled him out. “Is it true?” he asked finally.

“Yeah.”

A knock sounded at the door. It was Ryan Strome, with a bag over his shoulder. “I’m not staying in there with that motherfucker. I’ll sleep on the floor in here.” He sat down in a chair and looked at Mika. “So that’s why you and Allison broke up?”

Despite himself, Mika laughed. “No. God. She cheated on me. That’s why we broke up. Also I’m bi, not gay.” The words felt alien coming out of his mouth. It was the first time he’d ever admitted it to a teammate. _Uncharted territory,_ he thought, chewing on a fingernail.

“So chicks _and_ dicks,” Ryan said.

“Thanks for that oversimplification, Stromer,” Mika said, shaking his head good-naturedly. He supposed he could correct that crass definition later. Right now, he was still trembling.

He shrugged. “Underwood’s an asshole. So long as you’re not trying to touch _my_ dick, I couldn’t care less. It doesn’t matter.”

“No offense, but you aren’t my type,” Mika said, knowing his heart was in the right place, and Ryan laughed. “Well. Shit’s going to be real interesting now, isn’t it?”

Pavel moved over and clapped a hand on Mika’s shoulder. “We got you. Okay?”

Your phone didn’t buzz until the morning, and then you heard the story of the night’s events just the way Chris had—in your group text with Mika. You wished you were out there, but at least Chris was.

When you turned the game on that afternoon, you were pleased to note that Underwood was a healthy scratch. _Bless David Quinn for that,_ you thought, as they dropped the puck.

But something was wrong. You could tell Mika was tense. And when the camera followed Mika around the ice, as Rosen and Micheletti talked about his point streak, you saw one of the Edmonton players—Shapiro, a guy who’d been teammates with Underwood in juniors– say something to him. You saw him bristle. You saw one of the Oilers’ coaches smirk in the background.

You wanted to throw hands with the motherfucker yourself.

You didn’t have to worry about it, though. Not five minutes later, he was chirping at Mika again, and Ryan Lindgren dropped his gloves, grabbed Shapiro by the jersey, and nailed him with an uppercut that sent his helmet flying. You could hear him as Shapiro scrambled to his feet: “Come on! You got something to say, asshole? _Come on!_ ”

Shapiro lunged for him, but Lindgren was dangerous when he was angry, and right now he was _steaming._ He dodged Shapiro’s swing and delivered a sucker punch to the face, sending Shapiro to the ice again. The refs broke it up there. When Shapiro got to his feet, you could tell Lindgren had broken his nose.

With Lindgren, Lemieux, Underwood, and Fast all gone, you were worried about the outcome. It turned out, you had every right to be. Mika wasn’t himself at all out there, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, and despite Igor’s great performance in net, they lost 2-1.

You cursed when the horn sounded. The Rangers needed points. They had a chance to be buyers at the deadline, which was two weeks away, and you wanted desperately for them to be in playoff position—it would be more likely for the organization to keep Mika, at least through the end of the year, if they were going to make a Cup run. There was Hank to think of, too. He’d officially announced that this would be his last year, that he planned on retiring after the final season on his current contract, and you wanted him to have one last shot at the ultimate prize. They were just two points out of a playoff spot. _Fucking Will Underwood,_ you thought, as you went back to your work.

You left the TV on, though, and your attention returned to the screen during Quinn’s press conference when one of the reporters asked about “the incident at the hotel last night.”

“Look, I know what you’re asking me,” Quinn said, his blue eyes piercing. “First of all, I’m gonna tell all of you that I don’t comment on my players’ private lives. Second of all, worry about what he’s doing on the ice. Anything else is none of your goddamn business. Third, when I say ‘if you can play, you can play,’ I mean it. I’m not just parroting a line. That’s all I’ve got to say.”

The reporter pressed. “Was Will Underwood benched because of what happened last night?”

“Will Underwood was benched for breaking team rules,” Quinn said, his lip curling back in a half-sneer. “I know people heard what happened. I know there was a video. If you’re shouting that kind of shit down a hotel hallway, you’re not dressing for my hockey team.”

You shut off the TV. You’d never been more grateful to David Quinn.

Chris and Mika arrived home that night, and you could tell neither one of them was in a good mood.

You immediately put your arms around Mika. Listlessly, he accepted the hug. “I’m sorry,” you said to him, and he shrugged, leaving his suitcase in the entry, kicking off his shoes, and going straight to the livingroom.

You and Chris exchanged a look and followed him.

“Hey,” you said gently, trying again. “Mika, let’s talk about it.”

“What’s there to talk about?” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, turned it on, and tossed it to you. “Just scroll through the fucking comments on the Rangers’ Insta.”

You tapped the photo of Mika on the timeline, which was a highlight of his last goal. The comments were just as you’d expected—full of vitriol and idiocy. But not all of them. “Mika, there are supporters too,” you pointed out. “There will always be assholes.” You were trying to reassure him; just before they’d landed, you’d seen the headline on a blog. _Report: NHL star Mika Zibanejad outed in hotel hallway altercation in Edmonton._ You’d tried to steer clear of the comments there, too, and had a fairly large amount of pent-up rage after being unsuccessful in that venture. You tapped on his DMs. “Hey Mika,” you read out loud, “I’m sorry you were outed without your permission. You have all my love and support.” You opened another one. “If the rumors being reported are true, I’m so happy that now we have representation in the NHL. I wish you could have came out on your own terms, but so many people are proud of you and you’re going to make a positive impact on so many young LGBT players who aspire to play in the NHL someday.”

Mika took his phone back from you. “Okay. Two positives. What do the rest of them say?”

You looked at his face, at the heartbreak written all over it, and you knew he’d seen the rest. You wanted to do the same thing you did when Allison cheated on him—you wanted to take him out, make him forget, and hurt the person who hurt him. You wished you could take his phone and delete every terrible message and comment, like you had cleaned his apartment of everything Allison left behind. But this was bigger than that. Will Underwood had made the details of Mika’s private life public, and there was no going back.

Chris sat down. “I don’t want you to do this on your own.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I feel like you’re Hester Prynne and I’m Arthur Dimmesdale,” Chris said, once again falling back on a comfortable allusion. “You’re out there with the scarlet letter they slapped on you, and I’m hiding mine. It isn’t fair to you. I should be out, too.”

“Why?” Mika looked at him like he’d sprouted another head. “That’s the last thing I want. Why would I want you to go through this?”

“We’re partners,” you said firmly. “We go through things together.”

He digested these words for a moment. “They will rip you to shreds.”

Chris shrugged.

“Älskling.” Mika’s voice was tender as he addressed Chris. “I love you, but there’s no reason two of us have to be ruined. They don’t know that I’m with you. No one knows. We can just pretend none of this ever happened.”

“I can’t,” you said quietly. “How could you say that?”

Mika’s look was apologetic, but he didn’t take back his words.

“Neither can I,” Chris said. “Look—I know. I know that I might even have to leave my coaching job. I don’t care, okay? We can get through it, the three of us.”

Mika laughed. “Big jet, no pilot. You’re so fucking stupid, Chris. Ready to rush into things without thinking about the consequences. I can’t watch you go through this. I can’t.” He got to his feet. “Look—I just— I’m going back to my place. If I’m here they’ll think—you know what they’ll think.”

Chris held firm. “The truth?”

“I don’t ever want you to have to deal with what I’ve dealt with in the last twenty-four hours, okay? I care about you too much to see that happen. And if my outed ass is here, people are going to talk. I won’t do that to you. I’m leaving.”

“Mika,” you protested, but he was already going to the foyer, pulling his suitcase out the door, vanishing into the snowy night.

You turned. “Are we just going to let him walk away?”

Chris jammed his hands in his pockets. “It’s his choice,” he said quietly. “You know I don’t want him to leave, but that’s his choice.”

“We can’t let him go,” you said. “If we let him go tonight, we’re going to lose him.”

Chris sank onto the bench in the foyer, digging a toe into the mat. “If he comes back, and we go public, this is going to change absolutely everything.”

“It changes nothing for me,” you said, “so you need to decide—right now—if it’s worth it. If Mika is worth it.” You paused. “He’s not doing this to protect himself, you know. He’s leaving to protect you.”

He was already putting on his shoes.

Your Uber driver was there within minutes, and just before she got there, you remembered something: you grabbed your leatherbound notebook from your desk, tucking it into your inside coat pocket. The half-hour drive seemed to take forever, and you held Chris’ hand tightly in the backseat. “We can’t lose him,” you whispered to Chris, and you were near tears with the thought. Though he was more stoic, his lips were drawn in a straight line, his jaw clenched, and you knew this was the most nervous he’d ever been.

Finally, you reached Mika’s building. The scars from the fire still marred the building, but the elevator was operational. You sailed through—Mika had given you both a set of keys.

When Mika opened the door and came face-to-face with the two of you, he shook his head. “You’re both stubborn as hell,” he said.

Chris reached for his hands. “How long did the two of us spend wanting this and not having it?”

Mika looked down at their hands together. “Too long.”

“I am not going to be a chicken shit and give this up because I might have to deal with a bunch of assholes whose opinions I could not give any less of a fuck about. You mean too much to me for that. It’s sweet that you are willing to make sacrifices for me, Mika, but I don’t need that. I can make my own decisions.”

Mika’s eyes were sad. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Letting you walk out of our lives is going to hurt me much worse than anything else.”

Mika sat down and stared out the window.

You joined him. “I can’t fly the big dumb jet over there without a co-pilot,” you said, placing a hand on his knee. “Be my co-pilot. Please.” You fished your journal from your inside pocket and opened to a page. “Here,” you said, handing it to him. “I’ve finished our song.”

Mika read it, and his facial expression softened. He reached for your hand and looked up at Chris. “Promise me something,” he said, after a moment.

“Anything,” you and Chris said in unison.

“We’re not going public yet. Not until after the season. I didn’t like what happened to me out there today, and I don’t want to be distracted any more than I have to be right now. I will handle this.”

“Absolutely,” Chris said, coming to sit on the other side of him.

“Maybe,” he continued, “in the summer, like we planned, we can tell people.”

“I’d like that,” Chris said, and you nodded your assent.

You all looked quietly out the window for a moment, and Chris put an arm around Mika’s shoulders. You put a hand on his waist. “C’mon, Mika.” You kissed his cheek. “Let’s go home.”

“Home,” Mika repeated wistfully, and squeezed Chris’ hand. He turned to you. “Okay, Belle. Let’s go home.”


	19. text time [february 15]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris texts Kevin Hayes, Mika texts Mats Zuccarello, and you text your best friend.

  
  
  
  
  



	20. roll the dice [february 17]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Casino Night, Mika makes a big announcement; Amanda Fast reveals some suspicions; and you, Chris, and Mika decide to be a little naughty.

20\. roll the dice  
[february 17]

You looked in the mirror one last time and felt satisfied. Finished with your makeup, you emerged from the bathroom and went into the bedroom, where Chris and Mika were putting on final touches. Mika twisted his hair into a bun, while Chris failed for the seventh time to make his bow tie look decent. “Mika,” he sighed. “Help.”

Mika wrapped it around his neck and deftly tied it. When Chris turned back to the mirror, it was flawless. “How?”

“Talented fingers,” Mika said with a smirk.

“You can say _that_ again.”

Mika swatted his ass playfully and picked up his pocket square.

“We look good,” you announced, and they turned.

“That _dress,_ ” Chris said, coming to run his hands over the silk that draped lightly over your curves. “Between you in this and Mika with his hair up, I don’t know if I’ll last the night.”

“You’ll be thinking about pulling it all night,” Mika said, and Chris didn’t deny it.

You looked in the mirror. Mika’s arm was around Chris’ shoulders, and Chris’ arm was around your waist. You wished you could go out just like this, but you knew you couldn’t—you knew you weren’t inhabiting a world, a culture, a space that would understand what the three of you were building. It made you sad.

But still, between you and Mika, Chris was smiling, brighter than you’d ever seen him smile before.

“I’m nervous,” Mika admitted suddenly. “This is—this is the first time we’ve had a public event since Edmonton.”

“We’ve got that covered.”

“Who’s ‘we?’”

“Mostly Quinn, Lindy, Stromer, Bread, and Buch. Stay close to one of us. If someone starts talking, we’ll come in and change the subject.”

“Bread volunteered to _talk_ to people? In English?”

Chris laughed. “His English has gotten a _lot_ better,” he said, “though yeah, you’re right, he still plays it up for reporters.”

“But what if—”

You took his hands. “Mika, I will personally throw hands with anyone who dares to—”

His laughter interrupted you. “You are _such_ a spitfire. I cannot count the number of times you’ve wanted to fight someone on my behalf. One of these days, you’re really going to punch someone, aren’t you?”

You straightened. “If it comes down to it, _yes,_ ” you said emphatically, and he gathered you up in his arms.

“I love you,” he said.

“If she doesn’t physically fight them,” Chris said, dabbing on cologne, “she’ll destroy them in other ways. Remember what she did to that colleague of ours at the university? Cody?”

Mika nodded. “Oh, I remember that story.” He kissed you on the crown of your head, just like Chris always did. “Okay. I’m going to head out.” He crossed the room and kissed Chris. “See you there.”

For appearance’s sake, you went separately; Mika took an Uber, and you and Chris drove in, leaving your car with the valet upon arrival. This year, Casino Night was at a hotel, shifting from its usual spot at Tao; they were able to fit a hundred more guests here, and selling more tickets obviously meant more money for the Garden of Dreams foundation.

Chris left you, since he needed to gather with the rest of the team for their introductions. You grabbed a spot and waited nervously. Mika had spoken with the emcee of the event; he wanted to put a stop to the swirling rumors and just confirm what everyone was wondering. He was going to come out, officially, during his introduction tonight. He had left his phone with you, instructing you to take a photo as he walked.

One by one, they walked. You waited impatiently—and then realized they were walking in alphabetical order according to last name. When they neared the end of the alphabet, you cheered loudly for David Quinn. You seriously considered sticking a foot out to trip Will Underwood. And then—

“Last but certainly not least,” came the voice over the speakers, “let’s address some rumors about our final Ranger. It’s rumored that he’s on pace to have another 50-goal season: true. It’s rumored that all the people in this room, regardless of gender, have an equal chance at scoring a date with him: yes, he’s bi, people! That’s true! And it’s rumored that DJ Mika is working on his first full-length album. As a big fan of his music, I’m happy to say—that’s also true. Mika Zibanejad, everyone!”

His smile was big, and shy, and he avoided the faces in the crowd. In the spotlight, you noticed the colors in Mika’s tie: burgundy, navy, plum. It was the subtlest of nods to the bi pride flag, and you wanted to kiss him. He made eye contact with you, and then his gaze remained forward, on the rest of the team, until he reached them. You loved the announcement—it had been perfectly low key and lighthearted, and sandwiched in between a hockey brag and the note about his music. _Great job,_ you thought.

Photos were taken, and then the team began to mingle. Across the room, you spotted Mika in conversation with a handful of people. You watched carefully, and noticed that Pavel and Artemi hovered close by. Alisa came to you then, and Samantha and Amanda joined you shortly thereafter. “I cannot believe,” Samantha said, “they just did that to Mika.”

“Jesper said that he wanted them to,” Amanda reported.

“He did. It was better this way,” you said. “He even had me take a picture of the moment.” You held up his phone. “He’s probably going to throw it up on Insta with an official announcement. I’m pretty sure he just wanted everyone to stop speculating, and to claim his own label for himself.”

You looked again, and he was now talking to two women. He was smiling earnestly, although you couldn’t tell what they were saying; the room was loud and their backs were to you. One of them put something in his palm, and he gave her a big hug. As they took their leave, you saw that it was a pin—he affixed it immediately to his lapel.

He was able to finally break away, and he came to get his phone from you. You saw it, a tiny bi pride enamel pin gleaming on his gray suit. He was beaming.

“People are being so nice,” he said quietly to you.

Samantha smiled. “It’s cliché, but it’s like that quote—those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don’t mind.”

Mika smiled back. “Thanks, Sam. Okay—I have to spend an hour dealing black jack. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” you said, and he waved, disappearing into the crowd.

You had no real responsibilities all night, so you got to enjoy the games. Hank held court at a roulette table, still reigning here despite losing his throne on the ice, and you played a game, happy to see him smiling and carefree. You had a drink with Alisa and Artemi at the bar, teasing him for ordering a White Russian. He showed off his latest project to you on his phone: a doghouse he had built for Riziy. And then you found a couple of comfortable chairs in the corner and kicked back with Amanda and a couple of cocktails.

“Is it just me,” she ventured, “or has Mika seemed really happy these past few months?”

Chris and Jesper had always been Mika’s two best friends in New York, so it was logical that Amanda would have noticed a change in Mika’s demeanor. “Yeah,” you said after a moment, unable to stop a smile. “Yeah, he has.”

“Allison cheating on him was horrible, but maybe it was a good thing in the long run. Now he isn’t tethered to her for life.”

You nodded. “He can find someone who actually makes him happy.”

“You know,” she said, taking a sip of her mojito, “I think he’s already found someone.”

Your heart beat faster. “Oh? What makes you say that?”

She set her drink on the table and began ticking things off on her fingers. “One, he is _acting_ like a person in love. I don’t know how to say it any other way. Two, he is _constantly_ texting someone, and he always hides his phone when he does it. And sometimes? He blushes.”

You cleared your throat to hide your laugh. You and Chris had snapped a very pornographic photo the other day, of Chris deep inside of you while you were in lotus position, and sent it to Mika to tease him. You wondered if that’s what he had been trying to hide.

“And three, I heard him talking on the phone in his apartment one day, and he said the word ‘älskling.’ That’s ‘darling’ in Swedish.”

You slid an olive off its toothpick and popped it in your mouth, recognizing Mika’s pet name for Chris at once. “Well,” you said, “it’s like Taylor Swift says. Something happens when everybody finds out. Maybe he’s just keeping it to himself and wants to enjoy this new love privately.”

“Maybe.”

Your phone buzzed. It was Mika in the group text: _Want to do something potentially dangerous?_

Chris texted back instantly. _Always._

You scanned the room. Mika was nowhere to be found. _What do you have in mind?_

_Room 327. C’mon, Belle. You first._

“Sorry, I have to go make a call,” you lied. You got up and exchanged looks with Chris, who was across the room; he smiled, shaking his head. But you were definitely going to take the bait.

You exited the event space and made your way to the bank of elevators. You weren’t too worried about being recognized; you wouldn’t be missed. The lift carried you to the third floor, and you made your way down the softly lit hallway to room 327.

It happened quickly: Mika was dressed from the waist up, undressed from the waist down, and he knew better than to mess with your makeup. In lieu of a kiss, he licked you from cleavage to chin and spun you around, bending you over the dresser. He pushed your dress up around your chest and pulled your panties down; you kicked them to the side and spread your legs wide to allow him to slide in.

“You’re coming,” he said between thrusts, “I’m not.”

“Why not?”

“Chris is coming up here with his mouth to take care of me.”

You moaned. “God. And then?”

“You’re coming back upstairs to swallow him.”

“People will notice we’re gone.”

“Not if we’re fast.” He reached around with a wet finger to play with your clit, and your fingers dug into the glossy wood of the dresser. “Come for me. Let me walk around with your cum on my thighs for the rest of the night.”

You went weak at the thought; between the pressure on your clit and the way he was fucking you, you knew you’d be able to fulfill his fantasy.

In moments, you were shaking, trying to keep quiet, but you couldn’t stop yourself from crying his name as you came.

You turned, and you saw yourself glistening on his thighs; he drew a finger through the wetness and brought it to his lips. “Good girl,” he said, and that made you whimper. “Put on your panties and go tell your husband to come upstairs and clean you off of me.”

Mika wasn’t usually like this—he liked to take orders, not give them, but you did _not_ mind the switch. You cleaned yourself off and obeyed, dressing yourself and leaving him with a kiss on the neck before exiting. Once back downstairs, you sought out Chris, who was talking to a group of people you didn’t recognize. You joined, laughing along for a moment, and then pulled him aside when you got the chance. “Mika’s upstairs, half-naked, covered in me,” you whispered. “He wants you to come finish him.”

His arm tightened on your shoulder. “He is a god damn problem,” he said through clenched teeth, and you laughed as he slipped out of the room.

You went to get a Shirley Temple, wanting to take a break after having a couple of drinks, and then headed over to play another game. You were sitting at the craps table, laughing with Alisa, when Amanda tapped you on the shoulder. She was white as ice, her eyes round and empty, like she’d just seen a ghost.

“We have to talk,” she said to you, nearly pulling you out of your chair.

Your heart pounded in your chest as she led you to a corner. “I’m not sure how to _say_ this.”

“What?” You swallowed hard. “Just say it.”

“I was right. Mika found someone.”

“Oh, God. Amanda—”

“It’s _Chris,_ ” she hissed. “Jesper and I rented a room tonight, we thought it would be fun, and I was just upstairs because I forgot my lipstick and there were people making sex noises next door, whatever, but then they stopped and I came out the door and Mika was coming out of his room at the same time and _Chris was in there lying on the bed._ ” She got the whole sentence out just before she ran out of breath.

You took her arm. “Shh. Amanda.” You were having flashbacks to Christmas. “I know about it.”

If her eyes were round before, they were saucers now. “What?”

“I know. He’s with both of us.”

“With both of— _what?_ ”

You wondered, when you finally went public, how many times you would have to explain your arrangement to people. “We’re like a couple, but three of us. A throuple. A triad. Whatever you want to call us. I am begging you, you _have_ to keep this quiet.”

She stared at you for a moment, clearly still processing this.

“I’m serious. Promise me. You can’t even tell Jesper. Please. We have to keep this a secret, at least until the end of the season.”

Mika appeared then, harried, and rushed over when he saw the two of you. “Amanda—”

She shushed him. “I was just told that I need to keep my mouth shut about it.” She was smiling. “What the fuck, Mika?”

He laughed. “We can talk about it in a few months.”

Your phone buzzed: Chris. _I am still up here,_ said the text.

“I’ll be right back,” you said, leaving Amanda in shock and Mika laughing. 


	21. under one flag [february 25]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Pride Night, the team shows their support for Mika, and Mika delivers a performance to remember.

21\. under one flag  
[february 25]

You were upset. You’d been gearing up for this game for a while; it was pride night, and you had conspired with the other wives and girlfriends to create epic outfits. You’d all bought jerseys to alter. You and Samantha had spent a whole weekend with yours. After a fair amount of swearing, a Skype consultation session with her aunt, and a few bottles of wine, you had done it: 42 and 20 had been replaced by pride flags in the shape of those numbers, and the Rangers logo on the front of each had been encrusted in blinding rainbow rhinestones. You’d written the names of LGBTQ+ hockey players by hand on the white stripe at the bottom of the jersey: Harrison Browne, Brendan Burke, Julie Chu, Peter Karlsson, Caroline Ouellette. They were a labor of love. The plan was to wear them, have Brendan and Chris autograph them, and auction them off, with the proceeds going to support You Can Play. 

Just before you left, though, Snowball decided she wasn’t having anything to do with any of the very clean litter boxes in the house, and peed directly on the comforter and your bathrobe, which were both in a heap by the bed. It took you ten minutes to find the vinegar in Mika’s new organizational system and get a trash bag to carry the stuff in, ten minutes to get it downstairs and start the laundry, and ten minutes to scrub out the floor. Then you threw on your jersey and called an Uber, which you didn’t love doing, but you had to; Chris had his car, and yours was at the dealership, after your heat had stopped working a couple of days ago. Angry that you’d be late, you pulled up the pre-game on your phone and stuck in a pair of earbuds. You caught them right at the beginning of warmups, and settled in for the half hour ride.

“Let’s go down to the bench,” said Sam Rosen, “where John Giannone is standing by with Adam Fox.”

“It’s You Can Play Night at MSG,” began Giannone, “a night when it is traditional for players to adorn their sticks with rainbow tape during warm-ups to show support for the LGBTQ community. This year, you won’t see the _rainbows_ on Rangers’ sticks—but there’s a touching reason for that. Adam, can you tell me why the tape on your sticks is so special this year?”

“Our captain, as you might know, was recently outed against his will. It’s become real clear to us as a team that the NHL isn’t a good environment yet, based on what he’s had to go through. So we decided tonight to put the colors of the bisexual pride flag on our sticks in honor of Mika, so that everyone knows we support him for who he is. We’re proud of him and we’re proud he’s our captain.”

In the background, you could see it. Every single Ranger stick was wrapped in blue, pink, and purple. Your eyes watered, and you hastily dabbed the tears away.

“Well said. Coach Kreider tells me that there’s a lot of this tape that came today.”

Adam nodded. “I really respect what Kurtis Gabriel has done, and there are a few of us who plan to follow his lead and continue to use this pride tape on the end of our sticks for the rest of our careers.”

“An honorable gesture from the Rangers’ young alternate captain,” John Giannone said. “Sam, Joe, back to you.”

Your phone buzzed then: Chris.

_Will Fucking Underwood was still bitching about putting pride tape on his stick. He is the only one who wouldn’t do it._

_Christ,_ you tapped out. _It’s TAPE._

The next message took a few moments to appear. _He says he shouldn’t be forced to support it bc it goes against his own (I shit you not) “deeply held moral convictions.” Don’t you feel sorry for him? His RIGHTS are being INFRINGED UPON. Please fucking cry for me. I’m not sorry that I hope someone busts his nose tonight._

You laughed. The way Underwood played, you wouldn’t be surprised to see him pick a fight in the first five minutes of the game. He was always overly antagonistic, to the point that some of his stupid penalties had cost the Rangers a handful of goals over the course of the season.

Your phone buzzed again. _You should have seen Mika when they brought the box of tape in and told him what the plan was. He got teary. I’m so fucking proud of almost everyone in this room. It was all Foxy’s idea, but the rest of the team knew what was happening. He even got lapel pins for the coaches. What a kid._

You pulled up your group conversation with Mika and Chris, and your thumbs hovered for a moment. Words weren’t coming. You finally chose three emojis: a pink, blue, and purple heart. You knew he wouldn’t get the text for a while, but you wanted it to be there when he checked his phone. You hoped that tonight would be the end of his scoring slump.

You raced into the Garden and made a beeline for your seat, getting there just as the National Anthem was coming to a close. Samantha gave you a sideways glance; it wasn’t like you to be late. “My cat,” you said through clenched teeth, “decided to use a blanket and a bathrobe as a litter box. I had to clean up.”

She stifled a laugh as the lights came up. You settled in and got ready for puck drop. Mika won the opening faceoff and took the puck straight into Pittsburgh’s zone, firing a shot—

—that went directly over Matt Murray’s right shoulder. He threw up his arms in celebration, and you felt his elation and relief right along with him. The slump was broken. _Monkey off the back,_ you thought, _finally._

And then, less than five minutes later, the Rangers went on the power play, and he got #2 off an incredible feed from Panarin through a Penguin defender’s legs.

“Oh my God!” Samantha shouted beside you, but you were barely listening, thinking about something else instead. A few years ago, Mika had exploded on Pride Night, a five-goal performance that had the entire NHL talking. The Rangers scored six that night, Mika’s fifth goal the overtime winner to lift them to victory over Washington. The other goal-scorer was a footnote in history; no one even remembered his name. It had been Mika’s night. “Magic Mika,” they had called him.

Briefly, you wondered. Not only was he looking like the old Mika out there, the one who’d been on a scoring streak before Edmonton, he was looking _better._ He had a grin on his face. He was on the bench, laughing with Buchnevich. You knew it was only five minutes, but you had a feeling. You just had a feeling.

With less than a minute left in the period, Jack Johnson turned the puck over, and Pavel Buchnevich intercepted it. He and Mika took off. Buchnevich faked once, then made the pass, and Mika one-timed it; with five seconds left to go, hats rained down in Madison Square Garden, and you stared blankly at Samantha in disbelief.

Amanda shook you by the shoulders from the other side. “A hat trick in one period!” she shouted over the din, grinning. “Mika celebrates tonight!” A completely innocuous phrase, given the context, but you knew _exactly_ what that grin was about, and you shoved her good-naturedly.

A few moments after they’d gone back to the locker room, your phone buzzed.

 _I feel like the number of goals you score here needs to be significant in some way._ Chris.

Not long after, Mika responded. _I’m interested to hear more about this proposal._

 _You have a quick refractory period,_ you tapped out. _One goal = one orgasm tonight?_

Amanda noticed you hiding your screen and covered her smile with her hand.

Most of the second period passed with little fanfare. Kakko scored at the three-minute mark, and Panarin shortly thereafter, and Murray was sent to the bench. Their backup came in, a recent acquisition in last week’s trade with Vancouver, his first time taking the ice as a Penguin.

Guentzel sailed into the offensive zone after the faceoff and got a great shot off at Shesterkin, which bounced off of his blocker. The Penguins collapsed on him as Malkin tried to score on the rebound, Shesterkin reached to cover it up, and Hornqvist dug at Shesterkin’s glove with his stick. Lemieux took offense and shoved him a little before turning away; Hornqvist took offense to that and cross-checked him in the numbers so hard that he fell to the ice. Lemieux was up at once, ready to go, but Brendan Smith held him back.

It took one minute and thirty-three seconds for the Rangers to score goal number six—and it was a tip-in from Mika. He had his fourth of the night.

Your hands were shaking when you typed it into the group text. _Dick trick,_ you said simply, as Amanda threw an arm around you. _You should have your cock out, stroking it._

Chris was behind Mika on the bench, grinning wide, his hands on his shoulders. It looked like nothing but a coach congratulating his player, but you knew better. You wondered what he was allowing himself to say.

When the Rangers went to the locker room after the 2nd, it was 6-0, and Mika had scored four of the six.

You went out to grab some nachos and a bottle of water from the concession stand. You were standing in line, texting Jocelyn, when you caught a snippet of the conversation behind you.

“…don’t give a shit who he’s fucking as long as he keeps scoring like this,” one of the two guys was saying.

“I don’t know. It’s still weird.”

“Jesus, Blake, it’s only weird because you’re being weird about it.”

“They’re going to trade him anyway. He’ll be gone tomorrow. Everyone’s saying…”

You reached the counter and ordered your snack. You couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that Mika only needed one more goal to match that five-goal night.

And at the 5:21 mark of the third period, just when you’d tucked your empty nacho tray beneath your seat, he received a pass from Buch and beat the Penguins’ backup, right through the five-hole.

You didn’t hear the rhythmic call from Sam Rosen that would become legendary: “Fifth goal through the five-hole!” You didn’t hear Chris scream Mika’s name across the ice. You didn’t hear the words Amanda was shouting in your ear. You barely even heard the goal song.

But the thing was, Rosen’s call wouldn’t go down in the history books because of Mika’s fifth goal. It would be used in compilations for years as the penultimate call.

Because at 16:39, on yet another power play, K’Andre Miller slid the puck across the ice, and on a one-timer, Mika did what only three other NHL players in history had done: score six goals in a hockey game.

You were on your feet, screaming, hugging Amanda, tears in your eyes. “Two hat tricks!” you shrieked, your voice already half-gone. “Two hat tricks!” You could barely form thoughts. More hats hit the ice. “They can’t trade him,” you cried, “not now!” You hardly cared what Samantha or anyone else thought about you getting emotional over Mika—everyone was caught up in the moment and everyone knew you were close friends, anyway. Mika was at the bench, getting absolutely mobbed by his teammates. Chris was leaning over the bench, part of the mob, as if he were wearing a jersey again. He was unable to exercise complete restraint, and you didn’t blame him.

When the horn sounded, Mika stood up on the bench, turned around, and you could see the smile on Chris’ face; he shrugged, laughed, and threw his arms around Mika, patting him on the back. It reminded you of his playing days; how many times had they spun on the ice together, locked in each other’s arms? When Mika let go and turned, he had a multitude of players congratulating him, and you knew no one would forget this night: Magic Mika, the first active NHL player to be out of the closet, scoring six goals on the night his teammates wrapped the flag around their sticks to say they were proud of him. It was a fairytale.

You were grinning so hard your face hurt.

You could not wait to get him home tonight. 


	22. in these late hours [february 25]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three of you enjoy one last celebratory night before the trade deadline.

22\. in these late hours  
[february 25]

Your room had burned too hot tonight, the warmth of lit candles and three active bodies too much for the walls to bear. It was three in the morning, and you’d opened your windows to the sea. The sweat on your brow dried; your blood cooled.

Mika was there between you and Chris, stars still in his eyes. The two of you had kept Chris’ cheeky promise from earlier in the night, and had given him every ounce of attention. He’d just had his sixth orgasm of the night. _I can’t,_ he’d panted, gripping the bed, turning back to Chris, _but God, you feel good, so good, so—_

You were in front of Mika, on your knees, his cock in your mouth, ready to swallow if he had anything left in him; Chris had him by the hips, somehow having held off his own orgasm this long, fucking Mika relentlessly.

And Mika was wrong—he could, and he did, and then Chris lifted him onto the bed before he collapsed on the floor. _So that’s what it feels like to reach my limit._

“I’m so proud of you,” Chris said to him, kissing his neck. “I still can’t believe it.”

He smiled, still dizzy. “Of how many times I can come, or how many goals I scored?”

“Both?” Chris laughed.

“Magic Mika,” you teased, and he smiled, his eyes closed.

“What a day,” Mika sighed. “I’m so tired. I’m so tired but I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want this to end.”

Silence reigned for a moment—the trade deadline was tomorrow. By this time tomorrow, Mika could be packing up and moving to a different city for the spring. By this time next week, your house could feel empty.

“They can’t,” you said softly.

Mika found your hand and squeezed it. “No matter where they put me—no matter what happens, I’m still yours.” He found Chris’ hand, too. “These past four months… it feels like we’ve been together so much longer. I’ve never been happier. I love you both so much.”

“We’ll make it work,” Chris assured both of you.

“And we’ll have the summer,” you offered. “No matter what happens now, you’ll be able to come back in the summer.”

“I’m sorry, but I’ll cheer against you if you make the playoffs,” Chris laughed. “You’ll come home earlier.”

“I just hope that you’re coaching me to a Stanley Cup,” Mika said. “Tonight meant so much… to have my entire team do that for me… they’re a family. I don’t want to lose them. I don’t want to walk into a locker room full of Will Underwoods. I just want to stay.”

Chris pulled him in for a hug. “Let’s enjoy this night,” he said. “Let’s face tomorrow when it comes.”


	23. text time: deadline day [february 26]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris texts Kevin Hayes; Mika texts Mats Zuccarello; and you text your best friend.

  
  
  



	24. thoughts [march 15 / 31 / april 19]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Journal entries from you, Chris, and Mika.

24\. thoughts  
[march 15 / 31 / april 19]

**_> you <_ **

March 15

I’m going to be finished with my book soon. It’s taken a radical turn since this relationship started on that October night. What started as an Erik Larson-style nonfiction novel has turned into something a lot more like _Midnight in Paris._ Chris teased me about it when he read the revised draft. “It’s your own _A Moveable Feast,”_ he said, and I smacked him in the arm for daring to make a Hemingway comparison. It is highly autobiographical, though, he’s right about that; the main character is a writer who, while living in New York, accidentally leaves her journal in a café. When she returns the next day in a panic to pick it up, she finds a message scrawled inside from Anaïs Nin herself. She first writes it off as nothing, annoyed that someone would vandalize her journal. When she visits the café next, the server delivers a mysterious letter that was left for her, and she begins reading Nin’s diaries, finding references to herself, and the two women—both writers in love with multiple men—begin to correspond across time, their lives becoming inextricably linked.

But like—I’ve done it. I’m seriously on the verge of quitting my day job. Being freed from the bounds of academia, from concrete-sequential thinking _all the time_ , is so fucking liberating it makes me want to cry. My brain is working differently. I’m creating. A work of fiction, the music with Mika… I’m _creating again,_ and it feels so good.

Other things that feel good: permanence. Semi-permanence, at least. It’s now guaranteed that Mika will be a Ranger for five years. Realistically, coaches have short shelf lives in the NHL, even as assistants, but Chris said he’d coach here or coach nowhere as long as Mika played here. Chris, being Chris, has been smart with money during his career—we are set for life. And there’s nothing stopping him from going back to teach at one of the zillion colleges and universities in the area.

More than anything, I’m elated that we’re having these conversations about the future. Because at this point, I can’t picture a future where the three of us aren’t together.

**_> chris <_ **

March 31—With yesterday’s win over Toronto, we’re now officially locked into a playoff spot! Barely, but we’re in. Mika also scored his fiftieth goal in the game, which makes this two seasons in a row he’s hit that mark; so, not only am I dating one of my players, I’m dating a fucking superstar. I’m so goddamn proud of him.

It’s been a month since Mika was extended, but I can’t stop thinking about how proud I am to work for an organization that jettisoned the fourth leading scorer because he was a toxic influence on the locker room, and kept the captain whom the rest of the team follows, respects, and supports. You can tell a few of the guys are a little uncomfortable having a bi man in their midst, but the great thing is that they know it’s _their_ problem, and they don’t let their discomfort translate into discomfort for Mika—and they’re working on themselves. Lemieux is probably the worst of the bunch—all he’s ever said to Mika about it is, “I don’t agree with it, but it doesn’t bother me. You’re my teammate first, so if someone chirps you about it, I fucking fight them.” He even wore the bi pride tape on his stick that night, in solidarity.

I can’t wait to get the playoffs started. There’s something about this team. We may not be the favorites, but I believe in us.

**_> mika <_ **

April 19. Yesterday was probably my best birthday yet. First, we eliminated the Leafs and officially moved on to round two of the playoffs. We’ll have Boston next. Second, my partners sure do believe in treating you well on your birthday. They have figured out that I like to have my limits pushed, and that I love when I get to lay back and let someone else make all the decisions, and my _God_ did they give me everything I love and more. It was an incredible night. They also made my favorite cake. We sat around the kitchen table at midnight in our bathrobes after sex, and Chris stuck a bunch of candles in the cake and they sang happy birthday to me.

I didn’t tell them that I wished for this to be my life forever when I blew the candles out.

(I think they know I want that, though).

And then they gave me their presents. Thanks to her, I’m about to become one of those hockey players who wears a chain. She took steel strings from Chris’ guitar, and steel piano wire from her piano in the livingroom, and had them melted and made into a charm with my number: 9 for Chris, 3 for her. I’ve known Chris for nine years, and her for three. She is so thoughtful. I’ll wear it on the ice and it will be like having both of them with me. Chris got me tickets to a music festival I’m dying to go to. And then the last present was a box of sex toys: this really nice glass set of butt plugs, actually, which I am very excited to use. lol

Life is good. I feel like this is going to be my best year yet.


	25. finals, fists, and finding out [may 18]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Right after the last game of the Eastern Conference finals, Allison shows her face and Kevin opens his mouth.

25\. finals, fists, and finding out  
[may 18]

You were gripping Amanda’s forearm. Alisa held onto your shoulder like a vise. There were 31 seconds left in the game, the Rangers were up 4-3, and if Igor could deny the onslaught, the Rangers would be Eastern Conference champions and face the Los Angeles Kings for the Stanley Cup.

“Clear it!” Amanda screamed. “Clear it!”

She was screaming at Kevin Hayes, who tried to lift it out of the zone; John Carlson gloved it at the point and dropped it back to the ice, passing it immediately to Ovechkin.

Alisa was murmuring in Russian, repeating the same phrase over and over; if you had turned to look at her, you would have seen she had her eyes closed.

Ovechkin fired a shot and Shesterkin kicked it away. Mika swept it into the corner, and Backstrom went after it; Buchnevich was on him, though, and tied him up in the corner.

You looked up. 20 seconds. “Keep it on the boards!” you yelled.

There were four players in the corner now, and someone in a Washington jersey dug it out and flipped it to Ovechkin, who shot again and was denied again by Shesterkin. This time, Carlson grabbed the rebound and went high. Shesterkin knocked it out of the air with his glove. 12 seconds. Ovechkin came up with the rebound and tried to stuff it in, but Shesterkin’s skate was tight against the post. 8 seconds.

“Come on, come on!” Amanda yelled.

Backstrom somehow came up with it and lifted it, and your heart sank, knowing it was going in—until Shesterkin poked it out of the air with his stick. It _wasn’t_ going in and there was a mad scramble for the puck and the horn sounded, and Alisa’s scream rang out in your ear. You turned and flung your arms around her, both of you laughing, exhausted, elated.

You knew this was about to be a party to remember; you didn’t expect the reason why.

\----------

Two hours later, the Rangers had taken over a bar to celebrate. You were laughing with Chris, Mika, Kevin, Jesper, and Amanda, all of you still riding the adrenaline high of the win, when Mika’s face suddenly fell.  
  
“What?” you said. You turned, following his gaze, and saw her.

Allison.

She’d just come through the door with a couple of friends and stopped short when she saw the bevy of familiar faces on the other side of the room. One of her friends tugged on her jacket, but she pulled away, turning up her nose and rolling her eyes, and led them in, searching for a table.

You drained your wine glass and stood up.

Chris reached for you, intending to hold you back, but you were already out of his reach. As you approached their table, you kept your eyes fixed on her, letting every negative emotion gather in your stomach. You remembered Mika’s eyes, the defeat and utter sadness within them, the listlessness with which he’d hugged you that first night you all went out after finding out she’d cheated. You felt the sheer contempt and rage that had run through you.

She saw you when you were about three steps away, but she didn’t get to open her mouth.

“You heartless motherfucking piece of shit,” you spat. “You have some nerve coming in and sitting down after what you did to him.”

“Oh, please,” she sneered. “At least I got out before he left me for a goddamn man.”

Your fingers curled into a fist almost of their own volition. You reached back and swung, punching her square in the face; she fell off her bar stool, clattering to the floor, and you spat on her as she lay there, yelping and crying.

“Get her out of here,” you said to her friends, wringing your hand.

They helped her up; Allison glared daggers at you through her tears, holding her hand to her nose; blood dripped onto her pale pink shirt. Before her friends hauled her out the door, you got close up to her. “He is absolutely fucking _thriving_ without you,” you told her. “Chris says he’s never seen him happier. You will never find someone like Mika to love you again, and you fucking deserve to be betrayed and alone. Go get your fucking nose set.”

You turned around. Mika’s jaw had dropped, Chris was shaking his head and smiling, and Kevin—who was already drunk—was yelling. “You just fuckin’ broke that bitch’s _nose!”_ he shouted, as you returned to the table.

“My hand too, possibly,” you said, wringing it again; it still stung fiercely.

“I’ll go get you some ice,” Mika said.

“I’m gonna go buy you a shot,” Kevin said, clapping you on the shoulder.

Chris wrapped you up and kissed you as they stepped over to the bar together. “Nice hit, baby.” He smiled down at you. “She deserved it.”

“God damn right she did.”

They came back and Mika took your hand in his, placed a folded napkin on your knuckles, and set the bag of ice on top. He smiled at you, looking for all the world like he wanted to kiss you, too. “So it really _was_ only a matter of time before you punched someone.”

Ryan Lindgren, who was passing by with a full beer, patted you on the back. “Atta girl,” he said, smiling.

Kevin, watching Mika take care of your hand, gave you your shot and shook his head. “Jesus Christ, Zibby. No fuckin’ wonder why you love this woman,” he said.

You stared at him, aghast.

“Oh, shit!” He clapped a hand over his mouth. “I mean—look, it’s cool, at least I didn’t say anything about you and Chris, I—”

“Hayesie,” Chris said gently. “You’re making it worse.”

Jesper looked like he was going to explode. “So we’re finally talking about it now? Was anyone going to tell me I was allowed to say anything?”

“Amanda!” you admonished.

She shrugged. “He’s my _husband,_ I couldn’t _not_ tell him! I swore him to silence!”

“I stayed silent!” Jesper said. “I get it, you can’t have a coach sleeping with a player—”

Horrified, you tipped back your shot. People were starting to listen. You looked between Chris and Mika and were surprised to see their facial expressions were much less horrified than yours. Chris’ eyes were raised, bemused, and Mika was smiling, shaking his head, shrugging as if to say _well what can we do now?_ Chris started laughing.

Ryan Lindgren hadn’t left. “Wait a minute. You—what?”

“Oh my fucking God,” Kevin moaned. “I’m so sorry. My dumb fucking big mouth. I oughta glue it shut. Fuck.”

Mika looked at you, and you cracked a smile; he started laughing and he couldn’t stop. He stepped forward and leaned directly into Chris, and Chris put an arm around him. “So is this how it’s going to happen?” Chris asked. “The season isn’t over yet.”

He straightened, put two hands on Chris’ face, and grinned. “Fuck it,” he said. “Fuck. It.”

“I’m good with ‘fuck it,’” Chris said.

“Fuck it,” Mika repeated, and kissed him.

Then he turned to you, pulled you close, dipped you, and gave you a kiss. You nearly dropped your ice pack.

Lindgren’s eyes were like saucers. “It was _Kreids all this time?_ ” He turned. “And you are…”  
  
“We’re all together. We’re a triad.”

Kevin looked into his beer. “I’m gonna need a Jack and Coke.”

Chris shrugged, lips pressed together, raising his eyebrows. “My turn to come out.”

“This is not a surprise,” Hank said, as calm as ever. “The two of you. This is maybe the least surprising thing—”

“ _Why,”_ Mika demanded, “ _does everyone keep saying that—”_

You were laughing, your face on Amanda’s shoulder. “Ohhh,” you groaned, “what the hell is going on…”

“At least no one can accuse you of giving favorable treatment to Mika,” Hank said thoughtfully to Chris. “If you were going to pick one of your players to sleep with, you chose the easiest one.”

Mika arched an eyebrow. “Are you saying I’m easy?”

Amanda howled with laughter.

“Well, you _are_ sleeping with two people,” Jesper said matter-of-factly, and Artemi, who was passing by, stopped short.

“Who is sleeping with two people?” he asked.

“Mika,” Jesper said.

Artemi fist-bumped him. “What do they look like?”

You collapsed in laughter again. Mika was the color of a cherry. Chris blinked with his entire face.

“Chris and his wife,” Hank said helpfully.

Artemi stared blankly. “My English…”

Despite himself, Chris translated into Russian, and Artemi lit up. “We _knew!_ Hey, Igor! _”_

Mika threw his hands into the air, the universal _I give up_ symbol, and sat down directly on the floor.

Before you left the bar that night, the whole team knew. “It doesn’t exist in the locker room,” Chris and Mika both kept saying. “We are professionals there, so leave the talk out of our workplace.” Generally, it was agreed upon.

When you were on the way home, you finally let out a breath. “Well. This has been a night.”

“Doesn’t it feel like a weight’s been lifted?” Mika was leaning against the window of the train car, smiling wide. “I’m almost glad Hayesie has no filter.”

Chris reached over to tug playfully at his hair, a gesture of affection he’d developed over the past few months. “I can do this on the train now.”

“Maybe we should still be a little reserved in public,” Mika said. “We’ve got a Cup to win. I don’t want anyone else getting wind of it and spending time talking about that instead of about the real issue at hand.” He kissed your head. “They can have all summer to talk.”

“Four wins,” you said. “Just four wins to go.”

“Four wins and Hank gets to lift the Cup before he retires,” Chris said. “I want it for him. He deserves it.”

“Four wins,” Mika repeated. “We’re going to fucking get them.”


	26. game one [may 25]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Rangers face off against the Kings-- and Will Underwood-- in the first game of the Cup finals.

26\. game one  
[may 25]

“Oh, say, can that star-spangled banner yet wave…”

You shifted your weight from foot to foot, much like half of the players on the ice at the Staples Center were doing. Your eyes were fixed not on the flag, but darting between Chris and Mika; Chris stood on the bench, eyes closed. Mika was on the ice, hair in his face as he stared at the ice, shuffling.

On the other blue line stood the starters for the Los Angeles Kings, including Will Underwood. _If there is a God,_ you thought, _no benevolent deity would allow Will Underwood to have a Cup instead of Henrik Lundqvist._

The lights came up. “We’re going to do this,” you said to Amanda, for what seemed like the hundredth time.

She grinned. “Of course we are.”

You started out the game nervous as hell, but when the third period began, you felt a little better. Thanks to goals from Mika, Kevin, and Filip Chytil, you were up 4-1 when Mika skated out for the opening faceoff to start the final twenty minutes.

Mika got himself kicked out of the circle, and Pavel came in to take his place. You were close enough to see Mika’s face. You had just enough time to wonder if he’d intentionally got himself booted when you saw him shout at Underwood, who laughed in return and gave him a nod.

You put a hand on Amanda’s arm.

The puck dropped. Mika sent his gloves flying to the ice and made a beeline for Underwood. To the best of your knowledge, Mika had never been in a fight in a hockey game. Underwood, it seemed, was picking a fight every other game. He had experience on his side.

Mika, however, had blind rage on his side. He grabbed Underwood by the shoulders, and Underwood wrestled to get free of his grip. Mika held fast. He pushed him across the ice as Underwood struggled. Pinning him against the Rangers’ bench, he let go and started swinging. One uppercut. One to the nose. In a move you’d seen before, he reached back and tugged Underwood’s helmet off his head as Underwood landed a punch to Mika’s stomach; Mika clocked him with his own helmet, grabbed him, and tackled him to the ground, and the refs came to break it up.

Underwood was bleeding. The crowd was booing. Mika had lost his helmet; he flipped his wet hair back and got to his feet, Underwood’s helmet in hand, and with attitude you’d never seen from him before, gave a wave to the fans. With a smirk, he tossed Underwood’s helmet to Chris on the bench, grabbed his own from the ice, and skated directly to the box.

Your grip on Amanda’s arm tightened. “I fucking _love_ him,” you said emphatically.

When the penalty expired, and Mika returned to the bench, David Quinn walked right over to him and patted him on the shoulders, smiling. You couldn’t tell what he was saying; you’d ask later.

And then, with seven minutes left to go, the Kings pulled their goalie. _Ballsy move,_ you thought. _I like it._

After facing a volley of shots, Igor ended up with the puck. As was his tradition, he fired it down the ice, aiming for the net, looking for a goal; but he didn’t get to see where it landed. Everyone had been packed in tight around Igor, and Underwood delivered a sharp cross-check to K’Andre Miller, sending him careening into Kevin Hayes, and they both fell over on top of Igor.

When Hayes and Miller got to their feet, Igor didn’t.

“Fuck,” you said, “oh, no. C’mon, Shesty.”

He had his helmet off, and the grimace on his face was unmistakable. He was in terrible pain. He signaled to the bench, and the trainer came running out.

“No,” Amanda said.

With help from Kevin and the trainer, he got to his feet, but he needed to lean on both of them to get off the ice; he put no weight on his right foot at all.

You looked up at the clock. 5:32 remained, Underwood was in the box serving a two-minute cross-checking penalty, Quinn was cussing out the head official for not calling it a major, and Henrik was getting ready to come off the bench.

Amanda chewed worriedly on her finger. “He hasn’t played,” she began, “in so long. Do you think he’s ready?”

You watched him skate to the net. “I have never been so sure of anything.”

It was like Los Angeles smelled blood in the water. The Rangers got a few shots off on the penalty kill, but when Underwood came out of the box, the Kings attacked relentlessly. It would be for naught—the Rangers weathered the storm. Henrik saved every shot that came his way, and the score remained 4-1 until the horn sounded. The first game of the Stanley Cup playoffs belonged to the Rangers.

\----------

You and Chris had decided that Mika deserved to be well-taken care of after that fight. When you all got home, you stripped him slowly, showered him with kisses, and took turns giving him blowjobs, serving him a snack in between.

After his two orgasms, while you were all lying in bed, you turned to Mika. “What did Quinn say to you on the bench after you got out of the penalty box?” you asked.

He smiled. “He said he knew why I went after Underwood, and if it was for any other reason, he would have been pissed. He thanked me for being smart enough to wait until we had a good lead and told me he was proud of me for kicking his ass.”

“Spoiler alert,” Chris said, “none of the coaching staff liked him either.”

“And now he’s injured Igor,” you said.

The room was silent for a moment. You were all thinking it. Could Hank put this team on his back one last time and carry them to the championship he’d dreamed of winning?

“They’re the pretender kings,” Chris said, after a moment. “I have faith in the real one.”


	27. text time [may 30 / june 2 / june 5]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris texts his sister, Mika texts Mats Zuccarello, and you text your best friend.

  
  
  
  



	28. game six [june 8]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At Madison Square Garden, the Stanley Cup is on the line.

28\. game six  
[june 8]

The Garden was full. The Kreiders sat to your left, Amanda to your right. Mats was in front of you next to Mika’s parents. Your nerves sizzled with anticipation, with anxiety, with adrenaline.

You could watch the Rangers lift the Cup tonight.

You watched Hank do his pre-game routine, hitting the posts with his stick, tapping his pads, and you smiled to yourself. Hockey came with superstitions. Mika had taken to kissing the pendant you gave him for his birthday before every game, just before skating out to take the face-off, and you saw the motion out of the corner of your eye. You wore your lucky charm, a heavy brass Thor’s hammer on a gold chain, tucked under your shirt. Since his playing days, Chris had always listened to one particular song before the game, the title of which he would reveal to no one. Next to you, Katie wrapped her hand around the cross on her necklace and said a quick prayer. _Maybe all of our little rituals can give us what we need to win this tonight,_ you thought.

And then the puck hit the ice, and there was no time to think of anything but the game.

Things started on a high note, when Fast fed the puck to Kakko and he went top-shelf on the Kings’ goalie just five minutes in, putting the Rangers up 1-0.

“Early leads,” Amanda said. “Early leads. We’re good with early leads.”

You held back from making a statistician joke, mostly because you wanted to believe. “I just want a two- or three-goal buffer all game,” you replied. “I need them to let me breathe.”

But not two minutes later, Brendan Lemieux found himself in the box for a slash, and Adrian Kempe put in the equalizer, a brilliant deflection that no goalie could have stopped. Lemieux exited the box and smacked his stick against the ice, angry at himself for taking the penalty. You saw Quinn walk over and get in his ear about it. Chris leaned over to the other assistant, pulling out his clipboard and sketching a quick play.

They entered the second half of the period tied at one. Underwood and Lindgren had been having words already, and you wondered when they were going to go yet another round; at the face-off in the Kings’ zone, they were getting fired up, and Mika turned to Lindgren. The message was clear. _Leave the fight. Let’s take home the Cup instead._

Lindgren kept his temper, but Buchnevich got tangled up on the boards with Kopitar, Kopitar went down, and the arm went up.

“Bullshit call,” Katie spat. “Bullshit. He tripped over Buchnevich’s stick, that doesn’t make it _tripping._ ”

Katie was right, but Buchnevich skated to the box to serve his time. The Kings put on the pressure, and by this time in the series, they’d clearly figured out the formation that was most effective against the Rangers. Henrik, though, was more focused than you’d ever seen him, even back in the days before you met Chris, when he was starting all the time, and he was moving like he could see everything a couple of seconds before it actually happened. A shot from the point—he was already in position to block it. Rebound came out—skate already against the post, ready to stop it from trickling in.

The penalty passed with no goal scored. Just when Pavel was ready to exit the box, the puck wound up on Henrik’s stick—

—and you watched in utter disbelief as he made a saucer pass to Pavel, who went in on a breakaway, faked, and scored.

You threw your arms around Amanda, both of you jumping up and down together. You could barely find words. Pavel was skating past the bench, bumping fists with his teammates, but he was skating right toward Henrik, who was standing in his end with his arms pumping, clearly elated about the assist.

“Uh-oh,” Katie said in a high voice, emulating Happy Gilmore. “Henrik learned how to handle the puck.”

You laughed. You remembered Chris saying that he’d actually allowed Igor to work with him and teach him some of his tricks, and you admired the humility it too for the veteran to be the student.

You took a 2-1 lead into the first intermission, and you sat back, drained, feeling like they’d played the whole game already.

Therese Lundqvist, who was sitting next to Mats, took the girls upstairs for snacks, and Mats turned around. “Playoffs take a lot out of you,” he laughed, seeing your exhaustion. “Even when you’re in the seats.”

You smiled warmly. “I wish you could be out there,” you said to him.

“I haven’t seen you in so long,” he said, as Amanda checked her phone and the Kreiders left the section. “I hear things are going well, though.”

You knew Mika had told him. “It’s so strange,” you said, lowering your voice, “to be in mixed company. Mika’s parents know he’s bi, obviously, since he was outed. Chris’ parents don’t. Neither set of parents know about the triad. You, Katie, and Amanda all know about it. I’d venture a guess that Therese knows, since Mika just straight up kissed both Chris and I in the bar after the conference finals—”

“Nothing straight about it,” he cracked, and you laughed. “Hard to keep track of what you can and can’t say, though?”

“Yes. Soon, though.”

“Thank God. I’m done with all this secrecy.”

“You and me both,” you laughed.

Mehrdad and Ritva turned to join in the conversation, and Amanda slipped her phone into her purse and joined, too. There were a few hitches with language, but Amanda and Mats both happily helped translate, Swedish being the most common tongue among the group. Ritva recognized you instantly and thanked you for letting Mika stay at your house after the fire, and Mehrdad joked that you were probably glad to be rid of him and his picky eating habits. “Compared to my husband,” you told him, “he isn’t picky at all—I liked having Mika around, actually. He ate real food.”

“Did he do his share of the cooking?” Ritva wanted to know.

You nodded. “Chelo kabob koobideh, lemon and garlic chicken, Swedish meatballs, this delicious salmon soup he said you taught him to make…”

“Lohikeitto.” She was beaming.

“That’s it. Mika’s an excellent cook. I’d eat anything he put in front of me.”

“It sounds like he cooked almost the whole time he was there,” Mehrdad said.

“I think Chris and I have been in the kitchen, collectively, half the time Mika has since he moved in,” you laughed, then realized you’d spoken in the present tense.

No one seemed to catch it, though Mats shot you a quick glance. “I loved going over to his place when he cooked,” Mats said, rescuing you. “I remember the meatballs. I could eat dozens.”

You chit-chatted until Henrik’s wife and kids and Chris’ parents were back, then settled in for the second period. The conversation had been a welcome distraction—when the team returned to the ice, the nerves fired up again. You looked up at the scoreboard: 2-1 Rangers.

“Just gotta win the period,” you said, almost to yourself.

Amanda snorted. “You _sound_ like a coach’s wife.”

“I _am_ a coach’s wife.”

It took eight long minutes for the first goal of the period to go in: a wrist shot from a familiar face, Kyle Vang, who had signed a pro contract with the Kings after his junior year of college. Chris had expressed how weird it was to have coached him in college, and to now be coaching against him in the Stanley Cup Playoffs. _I’m already getting to be an old coach,_ he’d joked dramatically, and you and Mika had rolled your eyes in sync.

You’d had Kyle in one of your classes. He was a great kid. Now you were glaring daggers at him.

And then, during a Rangers power play, Panarin fed Kakko a pass that was just a bit too hard for him to handle; he bobbled the puck and Ryan Novak, who’d won last year’s NHL Fastest Skater competition, pounced. He came up with it, flew down the ice, and beat Henrik glove-side. For the first time in the game, the Rangers were down.

You couldn’t hear Henrik cuss, but you felt it with the motion of his body. Therese shook her head and you bent over, patting her on the shoulder. “He’s been playing _so_ great,” you said in her ear. “One goal’s nothing. One goal’s nothing,” you said, even as you were doubting yourself. “They’ve got this.”

Chris talked to both Artemi and Kaapo on the bench, giving them some words of reassurance—especially Kaapo, who always took mistakes so damn hard. You loved the way he worked so hard to build his players up instead of tearing them down.

At the end of the second, the score still read 3-2, Los Angeles.

This time, you went up to take a break, and you went by yourself. Alone with your thoughts, you walked a lap around the concourse, your usual pattern during a stressful game. You wanted so badly for them to win it here, with all their fans, with the friends and family in attendance— _don’t fuck this up,_ you willed them silently, _you can do this._

You returned in time for the start of the third and settled in.

Will Underwood, despite the weight of the game, was still chirping away. You read Kevin’s lips. _Turn you into fucking pulp, kid,_ and you thought that fairly clever of him, though maybe he hadn’t intended to make the joke. Lindgren had held back, but apparently Kevin didn’t have the same amount of self-control, and he and Underwood dropped the gloves after the first TV time-out.

With Underwood in the box, though, one of their best defensemen—and one of their penalty-killers—was gone.

Chris, you could tell, had a plan. He was walking up and down the bench, shouting directions at players. He bent down to talk to Mika and Artemi, his head between theirs, pointing to the ice and giving instructions, and they listened intently, nodding away.

When they went out on the power play, they executed flawlessly. Artemi’s pass slid through the legs of a Kings forward and landed right on the stick of Mika, who one-timed it, firing the puck through the tiny gap between skate and post.

“Tied,” you said breathlessly, after celebrating the goal, and Katie clenched her jaw.

“Let’s not do overtime,” she said, and you couldn’t have agreed more. “Let’s just win this thing.”

The clock ticked down. The game had opened up—back-and-forth, up and down the ice, one second Henrik was making a brilliant save, five seconds later, the LA goalie was keeping them alive. It was crazy. Your heart pounded.

With a little over four minutes, Mika had a breakaway, and you thought your chest might explode; you and Amanda held hands, all four hands, both wishing with all your might, but the goalie kicked the puck away and you collapsed back into your seats, groaning.

The puck went the other way, and Adrian Kempe got a shot off on Lundqvist, who somehow batted it out of the air with his stick and covered it.

“I’m going to die,” you said, and you didn’t even think you were being dramatic. You thought about the NCAA playoffs a couple of years ago, when Chris was coaching, and you wondered if your heart could handle another Cup playoffs game. “Seriously. God. Can we just score? Why are they doing this to me?”

The puck dropped again, and time continued to slip away. With 1:29 left, the Kings entered the zone, and held fast.

 _“Get it out of there!”_ you shrieked, willing someone, _anyone,_ to get a stick on it, just ice the puck, just get it out. Henrik was blocking shots left and right. Adam Fox blocked a shot and limped off the ice, and you swore under your breath. But despite them owning the zone, the clock ticked to zero, and the score was still 3-3 at the end of regulation.

 _“Fucking._ Overtime.” You turned to Amanda. “Come with me.”

You walked the concourse with Amanda, needing to move around to get some energy out.

“Motherfuckers,” you swore under your breath. “They just _couldn’t_ do it in regulation. We just _had_ to go into overtime. I hate them _all so much._ ”

“You hate Mika?”

“Fuck Mika. Fuck your husband.”

She laughed. “You are one of my favorite people, I swear to God. Let’s get you a chocolate bar and a beer.” She patted you on the back like you were a child, and you couldn’t help but crack a smile.

“They are KILLING ME, Amanda.”

“Maybe they will revive you soon.”

You had no idea how she could be so calm.

You allowed her to walk you to the concession stand, and she did indeed order you a chocolate bar, but you declined the beer. She put her arm around your shoulders. “Your husband,” she said, “and your boyfriend, and _my_ husband, are about to be Stanley Cup Champions.”

“You’re so calm.”

She smiled serenely. “I can feel it. This is ours, and it’s ours tonight.”

You sat down and polished off your chocolate bar, sharing the rest with Katie, and then—for the last time that night—the Rangers took the ice.

Mika won the first face-off. In your lap, your hands twisted together, white-knuckled. You played with your wedding ring. You played with the moonstone ring on your right hand that Mika had given you before the playoffs started, a gift with no underlying meaning; to you, it had more significance.

The first chance in the overtime period belonged to the Rangers. Mika ended up with the puck behind the Kings’ net, fed it to Buchnevich, and he shot, but the goalie knocked it away.

It went back down the ice after that, and Kempe’s shot rang off the crossbar. You could have sworn you felt your soul leave your body.

Back and forth, back and forth. Kakko collected the puck and carried it into the Kings’ zone. They set up, and the eventual shot by Jesper was kicked out.

And down the ice once more.

So _this_ was how it was going to go.

With 8:36 left in the period, Will Underwood took a penalty. Two minutes for hooking, as he’d taken Filip Chytil down as he went hard for the net.

“It should be a penalty shot,” Amanda said.  
  
“Agreed. I’ll take what we can get, though. Our power play…”

She nodded. “We’re going to score.”

The Rangers’ power play had been good for a long time now, but with Chris running it, it was lethal. Their power play percentage, at 32.2%, was the best in the league by a long shot. They had, in fact, beat the previous record of 31.88%, which had been held by the 77-78 Canadiens. There were good reasons why taking a penalty against the Rangers could be the death blow to a team.

Two of those reasons were named Mika Zibanejad and Artemi Panarin.

The Rangers called a time-out, and Chris spoke to the power play units, his face animated, jabbing at his clipboard. When he was done, he tapped Mika on the helmet. You didn’t know what he said, but Mika came back onto the ice with a smile on his face.

The puck dropped. Mika won the face-off and dropped it back to Adam Fox, who had returned from the stinger he took off the leg at the end of the third. And then they took control, setting up the 1-3-1.

They worked the puck around the perimeter, Panarin and Fox passing back and forth, looking for options. Fox slid it to Kakko on the half wall, and as Buchnevich emerged from behind the net, Kakko put the puck on his stick. Buchnevich fed it to Mika, who was standing in front of the net, and Mika got a shot off, but it was blocked; but Artemi was there, crashing the net, and he got a stick on it, firing it just below the glove of the LA goalie— _and in._

You let out a scream and hugged Amanda for dear life. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Artemi kick his leg so high in the air that he fell over; the entire team, helmets and sticks and gloves flying, tackled him. You turned, flinging your arms around Katie, high-fiving Chris’ parents, Therese, Hank’s daughters, Mats, Mika’s parents, everyone around you.

Henrik was the first one to climb off the pile of jubilant Rangers and look up into the lights, and you could see the tears streaming down his face. You put your hands on Therese’s shoulders and when she turned, she was crying, too. “He did it,” you said, and you were a little choked up yourself.

Chris scrambled off the bench and onto the ice, grinning, and Mika skated straight toward him, his face bright; Mika flung his arms around Chris, picking him up, spinning in a circle on the ice—and kissed him, right on the lips, for at least a full five seconds. Then he set him down and they seemed to realize what they’d done. Mika moved his hands to Chris’ arms, and they said something to each other, and then both started laughing.

Kathy, Dave, Mehrdad, and Ritva all turned to look at you with varying degrees of shock written on their faces. You felt Amanda’s hands on your arm, supportive.

You laughed. “This warrants a longer conversation than we can have right now,” you said, “but let me assure you, the three of us are very happy together.”

Dave blinked, processing this. “The three of you—”

You ordinarily wouldn’t have spoken for Chris, but he’d literally just kissed Mika on the lips in full view of the entire Garden. “Chris is bi,” you told Dave. “The three of us have been in a polyamorous relationship since October.”

Kathy nodded sagely. “There always seemed to be something about the two of them,” she mused.

You were laughing. You could already picture Mika going off the rails. “Please tell them that,” you said to her. “I want to be there when you say it.”

A chorus of boos went up from the crowd, and you knew that meant Gary Bettman had stepped onto the ice surface. You saw Mika skate over to him as the carpet was unfurled.

“When do we go down?” you asked Amanda. “Oh my God. I’ve never done this before.”

“None of us have,” she said, laughing. “After Bettman presents the Cup, though, right? We can’t be on the ice until they have it, and we want to see it presented…”

You were shaking so hard you could barely stand.

“Do we get to come?” Katie asked.

“I’ll make them let you through,” you said adamantly, “they better let you!”

Bettman was talking, but you weren’t listening, and neither was the Garden faithful—they were still booing. A few rows behind you, you heard the familiar “Potvin Sucks” whistle, except the small contingent chanted “Bettman sucks!” instead. You didn’t have time to ponder whether or not that was blasphemy, because the commissioner was calling Mika over to present him with the cup, but Mika declined. He held something in his fist; he skated over to Henrik, and for a moment, you couldn’t see his face; Mika was in the way. He was doing something to Henrik’s jersey, and after he was finished, he gave him a huge hug and then backed away.

He’d pinned a “C” on Henrik’s jersey.

There was no pulling it together for Hank. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, attempting to stop crying at least for the photo. He skated over and shook Bettman’s hand. The entire arena was vibrating with the chant. “Hen-rik! Hen-rik!”

And you were crying too, as they snapped the photo and he picked up the Stanley Cup and held it high, screaming out what you were sure was an expletive or two in Swedish, and kissed it. He took off around the rink, doing a whole lap, tears still coming, and both the team and the fans were alive. Finally, he handed it to Mika, who lifted it, kissed it, grinned like a wild man, and gave it to Pavel.

“Come on,” Amanda said, “come on! Let’s go!”

You followed her up the stairs, and down the escalator, and into the beige room where the arena staff let you through to the ice. Chris, face still lit up like the Fourth of July, came straight to you and you jumped into his arms, kissing him. Mika came over immediately, grinning.

“We _did it!_ ” you shrieked, and threw your arms around Mika. He was too tall for you to reach his lips on skates; he lifted you into the air and you kissed him. “You beautiful bastard,” you said to Mika, “doing that for Hank. I love you so fucking much.” You paused. “By the way, I had to tell everyone!” you exclaimed. “You fuckers have to go and make out on the ice and leave me up there to explain to both of your parents—”

Kathy smiled, putting a hand on Chris’ arm. “I wasn’t overly surprised,” she said, keeping you in her sightlines. “There always seemed to be something about you and Mika.”

Mika rolled his eyes so hard you thought they’d get stuck in the back of his head. “Everyone. Says. That.”

You were laughing. Over Kathy’s shoulder, you saw Jesper spinning Amanda on the ice.

Ritva and Mehrdad spoke to Mika in Swedish, so you had no idea what they were saying, but the look on his face—your favorite shy smile—told you that everything would be just fine there.

While the Kreiders congratulated Chris and the Zibanejads talked to Mika, you saw that the crew had allowed Mats out on the ice with Therese and the girls, and you wondered if anyone noticed the former Ranger congratulating his best friend on the prize he’d been working toward for his entire career. He belonged out here, you thought.

It occurred to you, as you watched the celebrations around you, that every Ranger had someone different. You saw Alisa pushing a wheelchair, Artemi’s grandfather in the seat, as Artemi brought the Cup over to the man who had raised him. Hank held Juli in his arms while he talked to his wife and his best friend; Charlise had gone off running around the rink. Vitali Kravtsov was with his girlfriend and his girlfriend’s parents. You were glad, watching the joy unfold, that the crew hadn’t narrowly defined “family.” It wasn’t just significant others and children; it was whomever the players and coaches deemed loved ones.

You looked back at Mika and Chris, still smiling, both still riding the adrenaline high of the championship. You looked at Kathy and Dave and Katie, whom you knew so well; you looked at Ritva and Mehrdad, and wondered how well you’d grow to know them.

When the photographers came around, Mika and Chris automatically pulled the entire group together. It was a photo that you’d treasure for a long time: the pair of them grinning, Katie clowning around and putting bunny ears behind her brother, Mehrdad looking proud, Kathy caught in the middle of a laugh.

It was your first family photo.


	29. permanence [june 11]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that the secret's out, Chris and Coach Quinn discuss what the future is allowed to hold.

29\. permanence  
[june 11]

You were stretched out on the couch, cuddling under a blanket with Mika, watching a movie when you heard the door open and close.

“Honeys, I’m home,” came Chris’ voice, and you and Mika both groaned at his latest favorite bad joke.

Mika paused the movie. Chris came in and sat on the floor next to the couch, and the smile on his face told you that the meeting with Quinn must have gone okay after all, despite his reservations. “How did it go?” you asked.

“I spoke first,” Chris said. “I didn’t even let him start. I was just like, ‘You know, I know why I’m here, and I’m sick and tired of having to choose between jobs that make me happy and people I love. I told him that it had been going on since October and it didn’t affect anything until Underwood decided to out Mika in Edmonton. I launched into this entire speech that I’d basically rehearsed on the way there. He just sort of watched me, with that bemused Coach Quinn smile, and when I finished he was like ‘Okay, Kreids. You done?’”

Mika laughed. “Sounds like him.”

“So I said yes, and he went on to say that he’d thought about it, and that there are plenty of coach/player duos that could potentially create conflicts of interest—parents and children, relatives, there’s even a woman coaching her wife in professional women’s hockey. He said if they can all keep it professional, there’s no reason we can’t, and we obviously did a good job of it this year, so there’s no reason to shake up a Stanley Cup winning coaching staff.”

“Is that the front office’s opinion too?”

“Quinn told them that if they fire me, he’d quit. Benoit Allaire was right there with him.”

“That’s some solid backup,” Mika said. “Does the front office not know Allaire’s planning to retire?”

“You’re not supposed to know that,” Chris reminded him. “Guess who’s thinking about asking to take his place?”

“That’s exactly where Hank should be after he retires from playing,” Mika said. “Oh, by the way, a package came for you this morning. It’s on the chair over there.”

Chris reached over to grab it. He tore open the plastic.

It was a set of Christmas pajamas. Soft fleece ones, in a Fair Isle print.

“Mika,” you said softly, seeing that Chris was overcome with emotion. “The package is for you.”

Chris opened the note inside and read it out loud. “We’re not sure how your relationship works, but if it makes you happy, it’s not important for us to understand. By the way, do you know how difficult it is to find Christmas pajamas in _summer?_ Make sure Mika knows he’s welcome here any time—and he’d better come for the holidays next year, along with his pajamas. Someone has to beat your wife when it comes to the pickle.”

Mika raised an eyebrow. “The pickle?”

You laughed. “It’s a tradition at the Kreiders’ for Christmas.” You both sat up, and Chris put the pajamas in Mika’s lap.

“I hope you have a favorite cookie recipe,” he said to Mika.

Mika nodded. “It’s probably packed in a box right now, but I definitely do. Oh—guess what else I found out this morning?”

You smiled, having heard the phone call.

“What?” Chris asked.

“My place sold. They want to take occupancy at the beginning of July.”

“We can pack the rest after the parade and everything,” Chris said and then paused. “Are we really keeping that giant clock that—”

“Yes,” you and Mika said in unison, exasperated, and Chris laughed.

“I swear to God I’m going to hang it in our bedroom,” Mika said, “right across from the bed, where you have to look at it. All the time.”

Chris kissed him. “Why am I going to be looking at an ugly clock when I have your two faces in bed with me all the time?”

Mika softened, but couldn’t stop one last sarcastic remark. “I’ll put you facing in that direction every time I want to put you on your hands and knees,” he said, and Chris laughed.

“Well,” Mika said, turning to you, “we should get going.”

You nodded. “And this means I have to put on real clothes.” You were headed to a recording studio to record the first of your tracks with Mika. The rest of them would be done later in June, but the Rangers organization had caught wind of your project—something told you that Chris was the responsible party—and wanted to know if one of the songs would be done in time for the championship parade.

“C’mon, Belle,” Mika said, with a proferred hand, and you knew you’d follow that request every time it was made.


	30. no ordinary world [june 14]

30\. no ordinary world  
[june 14]

Since the Cup win, your lives—with the exception of the few calm hours in the morning a couple of days ago—had been a whirlwind.

Plans surrounding the song with Mika had been changed. You were at the studio, recording, when you received the call that they’d rather have you sing it live from the back of a float during the parade. Your book had been released yesterday, but instead of watching for reviews, you were feverishly rehearsing while Mika and Chris reassured you. _The Athletic_ had called, and the three of you had agreed to set up an interview with them—they wanted to tell the story of your unorthodox relationship. Jocelyn had arrived last night, just in time for the parade, and you had your other semi-peaceful moment of the week—sitting at the kitchen table with her, nursing tea and catching up, while Mika and Chris made dinner.

The parade was a success; you’d never performed to a crowd like that in your life. The closest you’d come was singing the National Anthem at sports events in college. It was exhilarating, feeding off the energy of thousands of Rangers fans, proudly wearing your husband’s jersey as you sang the words you’d written with your other partner. It was a victory song, no doubt. _Somehow this is a bop, a banger, and a jam all in one,_ Jocelyn had said in an approving tone, when you played it for her for the first time.

After the parade, you went to grab some food, and brought Kevin with you. When he saw Jocelyn was there, it didn’t take much convincing. They hit it off right away, and spent most of the meal ignoring the three of you in favor of chatting with each other.

Later that night, the whole team migrated from bar to bar. The second one had a karaoke night going, and Brendan Smith, who was tipsy and had somehow collected a visor that he was wearing upside-down and to the side, sang Meghan Trainor’s “Me Too.”

Then Kevin dragged you onstage to be Alicia Keys to his Jay-Z, as he provided a drunken rendition of “Empire State of Mind.” _Long live the king,_ he sang, pointing to Hank, and Jesper and Mika lifted him onto their shoulders. _Hen-rik!_ chanted half the bar, while the rest kept singing along with you and Kevin.

The last place you went to was definitely more of a club, and you got so lost in teasing the hell out of Mika and Chris on the dance floor that you didn’t notice Kevin and Jocelyn slip away. It was strange and new, the three of you claiming your arrangement in public, Chris facing you with his hands on your lips as you were grinding on Mika.

At nearly one, you were ready to head home. You knew that, even though your friend would be in the house, you’d have to quietly all take care of each other—you had been teasing each other too much for anything else. Mika polished off the last of his drink. “Were you guys ready to go home? Where’s Jocelyn?”

You were checking your phone. “Well, she was supposed to stay with us, but…”

“Did she go home with Hayesie?” Chris asked, incredulous.

You held up your phone and showed him the text.

“I’ll be damned,” Chris said. “He _has_ mentioned several times to me that he thinks she’s super hot…”

You burst out laughing. “Are you serious? She’s been after me for months to hook her up with a hockey player whose, and I quote, ‘heart and muscles are as big as his brain is small.’ That IS Kevin Hayes, and I say that with love.”

Mika laughed. “God, it _is._ ”

“Sounds like this is going to work out then,” you said. You held your hand out to Mika. “C’mon, Ziba.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, smiling. “Oh, you speak Farsi now?”

“You call me ‘beautiful’ in French. I looked up the word for ‘beautiful’ in Farsi so I can give it back to you, and it’s the first part of your actual fucking _name?”_

“Aptly named, then,” Chris said, and Mika flushed.

“No, I can’t call you that,” you continued. “It sounds too much like I’m your linemate. I have settled on one, though.”

“What’s that?”

You grinned. “I’ll break it out when it’s the right time.”

—–-------

When you got home, you all dropped your keys and phones on the table and slipped through dark hallways to the bedroom that now belonged to all three of you. It was warm enough, now, to throw the windows open, and as Chris slipped your shirt off, you listened to the sound of waves. You remembered Coco Bodu Hithi, thought about letting the ocean breeze kiss your skin as the three of you slipped in and out of each other on that blue bed. Now it was Mika kissing your skin, and Chris kissing his, and rough hands, and smooth hands, and citrus, and vetiver, each one as familiar as the last. Now it was Mika’s playlist and your favorite jasmine pillar candles and the old green towels from Chris’ house before you were married. It was Mika’s glossy beard, just rough enough on your neck, and your tongue curling around the most sensitive spots on Chris, and Chris’ fingers in Mika, gentle, teasing, opening.

And when you had all satisfied one another, and you lay curled on one side of Chris, your head on his chest, his arm around you, looking into Mika’s eyes, who mirrored your position on the other side, you could almost hear Anaïs Nin’s voice, speaking to you through the decades:

_I disregard the proportions, the measures, the tempo of the ordinary world. I refuse to live in the ordinary world as ordinary women. To enter ordinary relationships. I want ecstasy… I will not adjust myself to the world._

This was no ordinary world you had built for yourselves, you and Chris and Mika.

But it was—without any doubt—ecstasy.


	31. stories [july 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An article is published in The Athletic about the triad.

31\. stories  
[july 3]

You put down your phone. You had been sitting in the airport, waiting for your flight to Stockholm, for the better part of two hours. You looked over at your partners, who were bent over Chris’ Kindle. Mika had started your book yesterday; Chris was re-reading it now.

“I cannot believe,” Chris said to you.

You smiled. “Believe what?”

He spun the Kindle around, and you read your own dedication:

_To my husband and my lover: these words of Anaïs’ are perfect for both of you._

_1._ _To think of him in the middle of the day lifts me out of ordinary living._

_2._ _When I think of him, I want to open my legs._

You laughed. “Are you really just seeing this now? You didn’t read the whole book? How many times did you lecture your students— _to get a thorough window into the author’s purpose and intent, and certainly to do biographical criticism, one must consider every word important—”_

He cut you off, giving you a friendly shove. “I’m not _doing biographical criticism._ ”

You laughed. Mika leaned forward. “Okay, real talk, speaking of opening legs. I cannot wait to finally go to this club.”

Chris stifled a giggle. It was probably the fourteenth time that day he’d said something about it; you were planning to return to the sex club that Mika had suggested to you last summer, the one you and Chris had already been to. “I still can’t believe you just went there to DJ and didn’t know what you were getting yourself into,” you teased. “Like you didn’t know what it was.”

“For the millionth time, the upper floors only open on certain _nights,”_ Mika said. “It’s a _regular club_ for most of the week. And then I go there and I’m just doing my thing on the turntables and suddenly there are like eight naked people on the floor, and _then_ someone’s just got their fingers _inside_ someone and—”

“Okay, _aftab_ , take a breath.”

He shot you a look, but he was smiling.

Chris shook his head. “It’s scary how we think alike sometimes. I can’t believe you chose to call him ‘sunshine’ and you didn’t even read the poem I wrote. It’s in my journal. When we get home…”

“When we get home, I will read your journals, and judge for myself whether they do, as you say, contain a level of detail which would make Anaïs Nin blush.”

Mika looked over at Chris. “At least we don’t have to switch his nickname to Mr. Potato Head this summer.”

Chris held up a hand. “I _promised_ the two of you that I would not shave my head.” He handed Mika the Kindle. “You probably have time to finish,” he said. “We just had to get here _hours_ early…”

“Hey,” you and Mika said in unison. “I like to make sure I’m on time when it comes to international flights,” you said.  
  
“Right,” said Mika.

Chris, who’d had his arm around the back of Mika’s chair, tugged gently at his hair. “That’s the thing about a triad. You can be outvoted. I’m going to go find a snack,” he said.

Mika flipped the cover of the Kindle open and returned to reading your book. You opened your phone again and decided to re-visit the article that _The Athletic_ had released a few days ago. You, Mika, and Chris had all decided to just sit down with one person and tell your story, and this had seemed the best route. They had handled it, you thought, remarkably well:

_Chris Kreider and his wife are modern-day polymaths. He speaks six languages, holds a doctorate in literature from Boston College, plays guitar, and was an NHL star forward. She holds a doctorate in literature and a M.A. in creative writing, contributed vocals to Mika Zibanejad’s latest album, and is an award-winning author, her most recent work being a novel loosely based on the life of diarist Anaïs Nin. Polymaths, by definition, are free thinkers, willing and able to see all types of possibilities in the world._

_It’s no wonder, then, that the Kreiders have taken a poly approach to relationships._

_In June, that approach was dissected—or at least mentioned—on sports blogs and news outlets everywhere, as Coach Kreider kissed Rangers captain Mika Zibanejad on the ice after the team captured the Stanley Cup._

_Ever since it began, the triad has remained quiet about their arrangement, even as the on-ice chirps in Zibanejad’s direction about his sexuality sometimes became audible on game broadcasts since the Edmonton hotel incident back in February, and even as David Quinn fired sharp-tongued barbs at any reporter who dared ask a question about his colleague and captain’s private lives._

_Now, the Kreiders and Zibanejad are breaking their silence._

_“I’d rather just coach hockey,” Chris Kreider admits, a cup of black coffee in hand. “In my ideal world, there would be an indelible line between work and private life. Unfortunately, not everyone shares my view. But I’d rather we control the narrative of the story that only we know.”_

_The relationship began in the waning days of October, as Kreider’s wife began to notice the attraction between her husband and his then-best friend. The Kreiders had already explored the option of taking on another partner in their relationship, something that they felt wholly comfortable with. “At the end of the day,” says Kreider’s wife, “I always knew that Chris and I were soldered together for the rest of our lives. I was comfortable with allowing Mika in; I knew nothing would divide Chris and I. The love could only multiply.” They were never ashamed, insists Kreider, but their chosen professions had to be taken into account: especially since going public with the relationship would mean that an NHL athlete and an NHL coach would need to come out of the closet._

_It’s no secret that, despite the league’s push toward inclusion in recent years, the reality of the situation in NHL locker rooms and on the ice is much different than the cheerful rainbow-hued merchandise and positive messaging might lead you to believe. “Though you don’t hear the f-slur on the ice much anymore,” Zibanejad adds, “there’s still an undercurrent there with certain players—that anything insinuating homosexuality is a good chirp. It’s toxic.”_

_And it’s not only the environment the players inhabit—it’s the environment fans inhabit, too. “Look at the social media comments any time a team hosts a Pride Night,” Kreider’s wife points out. “They’re full of homophobes not wanting a ‘lifestyle shoved down their throats.’”_

_Some of that toxicity had taken root in the Rangers’ own locker room. Zibanejad talks about the first days after he was outed by teammate Will Underwood in the hallway of an Edmonton hotel in the infamous video seen on just about every NHL blog in cyberspace as “terrifying” and “the most vulnerable [he’s] ever felt.” But his teammates, he says, were quick to stand up for him that night; they would stand up for him later, too, as they rallied behind him on the Rangers’ Pride Night, wrapping the colors of the bisexual pride flag around their sticks in support of him. “It meant the world to me,” he says quietly, his eyes not meeting mine, his lips pressed together. “Suddenly I thought—I felt like I could keep playing. Before that, I thought I would have to choose between the people I loved and the sport I loved.” When Underwood was traded to Los Angeles at the deadline in February, Zibanejad and Kreider both describe feeling “more comfortable” in their own locker room._

_But even as Zibanejad felt accepted and supported by his teammates for his orientation, the nontraditional nature of their polyamorous relationship complicated things further for the three of them. (_ Triad _, they prefer to be called, in lieu of the common monogamous term_ couple _.) Not only was it a step into uncharted territory to have an out player in the locker room, it was unheard of to have a coach dating a player. “I had honestly fallen for Mika when we were still teammates,” Kreider admits, and here Zibanejad reaches for his hand. They were worried, Zibanejad explains, that Kreider would be fired for essentially dating a subordinate, or that the Rangers’ front office would be more apt to trade Zibanejad, who was poised to become an unrestricted free agent this July._

_Though the Rangers themselves became aware of the unique relationship on the night after the Eastern Conference finals came to a close—“It was a ‘what the hell’ moment,” Zibanejad explains, “I just kissed them both right there in the bar”—the public did not become privy to their status until the Rangers sealed an overtime win to clinch their first Stanley Cup in decades. In a moment of adrenaline-fueled exaltation, Zibanejad skated over to Kreider, lifted him off the ice, and kissed him—on live television and in front of thousands of fans. Several minutes later, Kreider’s wife was on the ice, her arms around them both._

_“There were questions immediately,” Zibanejad says. “Media was on the ice asking me about this, and I’m just like—hey, I just won a Stanley Cup, okay?” Here he sighs, sitting back in his chair, and I can tell he’s still exasperated._

_NBC’s Pierre McGuire was the first to interview Zibanejad live on-air after the Rangers’ dramatic overtime victory. His first question, verbatim, was: “All right, Mika, with you being out and all, I have to know what that whole thing between you and Chris Kreider just now was all about.”_

_Zibanejad downplayed it at first, trying to re-focus, telling him it was a celebration—they’d just won the most coveted trophy for a professional hockey player to win. But McGuire pushed. “So you’re not—the two of you—”_

_“I felt trapped all over again,” Zibanejad says, recalling the interview. “So I just said it. ‘Yes, we are. Chris, Chris’ wife, and I. We are all in a relationship together and we are happy.’”_

_This gobsmacked McGuire, who fumbled through the rest of the interview and ended up not talking to Kreider at all. Zibanejad talks about feeling like people now focus on only one aspect of himself. “It’s like when I claimed the identities ‘bisexual’ and ‘polyamorous,’ I lost—at least in the public eye— the other ones.”_

_“It’s very reductive,” Kreider agrees. “I understand the fascination with our story; it is a unique one. And the ‘first’ of anything draws attention. Having an openly queer hockey player in the NHL for the first time is a big deal. Obviously, since we are sitting here with you, we are open to talking about our story. But this is not the only facet of our identities. We are still: coach, athlete, author, professor, musician.”_

_I ask about the impact of this sudden interest in their personal lives. “It’s exhausting,” Zibanejad admits. “Back when I was in the closet, no one cared. Now that I’m out… everyone not only thinks they are entitled to details about my relationship, those are the first questions they ask. Sometimes the only questions.” Here, both Kreider and his wife nod emphatically, clearly having experienced similar things. Visibly uncomfortable, he goes on to explain that the worst part is when people ask detailed questions about their sex lives. “You don’t ask straight monogamous partners about those things,” Zibanejad says._

_Do they get those questions often? “More than you’d imagine,” Kreider’s wife says. “I think it would be helpful for people to ask themselves:_ would I ask my straight, monogamous friend this? _If so, go for it. If not, maybe re-think it. Ask us about how we got together. Ask us who’s the best cook. If you’re curious about our dynamic as a triad, ask us how difficult it is to choose a restaurant or settle on what kind of curtains we want to buy.”_

So, _I say,_ in a hostile arena (no pun intended) where you’ve been reduced to your sexuality and relationship status—what now?

_Zibanejad and the Kreiders are hopeful. A lot of their friends, teammates, and loved ones have had similar reactions to the relationship. “What we have isn’t ordinary,” Kreider’s wife says, echoing the title of her recently-released novel. “It’s sometimes difficult for people to wrap their heads around. But they see that we’re happy, they see that it works for us, and they accept and adjust.”_

_They’ve been together eight months, and have lived with each other for six of those months. They’ve fallen into a comfortable domestic routine: laundry is the purview of Kreider’s wife, Zibanejad cleans house—“and organizes everything,” Kreider chimes in—and Kreider takes care of the dishes. There are four cats in the Kreider-Zibanejad household, and they neatly divide the duties of caring for their animals, as well. The three of them fit comfortably in their big, airy kitchen as they spend time together preparing meals, and the new sectional they bought back in April leaves plenty of room for Kreider and his wife to stretch out with books as Zibanejad balances his laptop on a knee, working on music. They share, in ways they’d invite you to ask about: Kreider’s wife has been teaching Zibanejad to play piano. Zibanejad and Kreider, who are both fluent in Swedish, have been teaching the language to Kreider’s wife. Zibanejad, by his own admission, has been reading more thanks to the influence of his partners; the Kreiders say that they’ve diversified their listening habits and learned a lot about music production by living with a DJ._

_So what’s next for the triad?_

_First, a vacation. Zibanejad plans to spend his day with the Cup in his hometown in Sweden, and his partners are coming along. They’ll be there for a couple of weeks. Zibanejad once took Kreider there over the summer—“I should have known he was into me when he brought me to meet the parents,” Kreider jokes— but that was before Kreider’s wife entered the picture, and Zibanejad is excited to show her around._

_Second, another animal to add to the menagerie. “Mika wants a dog,” Kreider’s wife says, “and we have plenty of space. When we get home from Sweden, we’re going to go around to some local shelters.”_

_Third, promotion: while Kreider’s wife has already been hard at work promoting her novel, the album Zibanejad and Kreider’s wife have been working on is slated to drop in early August. “It’s so good,” Kreider gushes. “I can’t wait for everyone to hear it. I’ve got two very talented partners.”_

_Fourth, a talk about the future. “We can’t exactly get married,” Kreider says. “We said that we would wait at least a year until doing anything like this, but if we reach that point in our relationship, we will likely hold some sort of commitment ceremony.”_

_And finally?_

_“Defend the title,” Kreider’s wife says, clapping both of them on their knees, grinning. “We are, first and foremost, a hockey family.”_ ◊


	32. [bonus chapter: happy birthday, chris]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter: You've been together as a triad for a year and a half now, and you and Mika give Chris a birthday he won't soon forget.

You and Mika had been plotting. A month ago, Mika said he was going to run some errands, and you cancelled your morning classes. While Chris stayed home, unaware, the two of you sat tucked in a secluded corner of a local coffee shop, eating croissants and sipping coffee and talking about what you wanted to do for Chris– and to Chris– for his birthday.

Though you had been together as a triad for about a year and a half now, there were still things you knew about Chris that Mika didn’t– you’d been sleeping with him longer, and you’d had more occasion to discuss your darkest fantasies. So you talked, and you watched Mika squirm when you mentioned something he was into– or something he didn’t know he’d wanted until you brought it up.

And then, so he could get up and walk out of the place without holding a newspaper in front of him, you moved to a conversation about what else you should do for Chris. _You always think of the most thoughtful gifts,_ Mika said. _You should be in charge of that._ You thought that maybe you should get him a joint gift, and then something from each of you. Mika knew where to take him for dinner.

At the end of your little planning session, you laced your fingers with Mika’s as you walked out to your cars. “I love this relationship,” you said, kissing him. “Two heads are better than one, right?”

"There’s a sexual joke in there somewhere,“ Mika said, and you shoved him.

"See you tonight, _aftab_.”

"Love you, Belle.“

–---------

Chris’ birthday began with sunshine. The morning rays filtered through the curtains, and it was Mika who stirred first. He gently pulled the covers down, past Chris’ waist, and took him into his mouth. You woke up to the sound of Chris moaning as Mika leisurely went up and down, and by the sounds Chris was making, you knew Mika was using his tongue to his advantage. You turned to Chris and smiled. "Good morning,” you said, propping yourself up on an elbow to kiss him. “Happy birthday.” You took his earlobe into your mouth, biting down softly, reaching around the back with your tongue, making his hair stand on end.

When he was awake enough, you glanced at Mika. “I think he’s ready,” you said.

Mika nodded.

"Oh, God, you’ve planned. You’ve _planned,_ “ Chris said.

The corner of Mika’s mouth lifted, and his eyes sparkled. "You bet we have, älskling. Get on your hands and knees.”

Chris obeyed, and you left the room for a moment. You could hear Chris, alternating between protests at your departure and moans at what Mika was still doing to him. When you returned, you were wearing a strap-on, and Chris gaped. “Oh.”

You got on the bed behind him and ran your fingers softly down his side. “Now that you have the real thing from Mika, you still want me to do this to you?”

He seemed almost offended. “Of course.”

You got him ready and slid inside of him, gently, and Mika eased up for the moment it took you to get inside.

"Why do I have pillows stacked under my chest?“ Chris asked.

"To hold you up,” you responded, and grabbed his arms, pinning his wrists behind his back, using them as leverage to fuck him.

"Fuck,“ he cried out, and Mika returned to his quick pace, taking Chris all the way down his throat– you’d had time to teach him the tricks you knew, and now Mika could take him almost as well as you could.

It wasn’t long before Chris was warning Mika that he was close, and then he was shaking in your grip and coming down Mika’s throat.

You gave him one extra thrust for good measure and withdrew.

He collapsed on the bed as you removed the strap-on and crawled into Mika’s waiting arms.

"What do you want us to do?” Mika asked him.

You ground your hips against Mika, clearly wanting him inside you, and looked at Chris. “Tell us what we should do.”

It had been last summer at that sex club in Sweden that Chris had discovered exactly how much he loved watching you and Mika together, and you intended to let him enjoy it this morning.

"Put him inside you,“ Chris said to you. "Ride him. Slowly. Tease him.”

You obeyed immediately, looking down at Mika as you followed instructions. He gritted his teeth. “Mean,” he said, his complaint directed at Chris. “After what I just did for you.”

"It’s my birthday,“ Chris said, "and I want to watch you squirm.”

You looked down at Mika as if to say _well, I’m helpless here._

Chris leaned in and kissed Mika along his cheekbone. “I’ll let her fuck you if you say please,” he said, and Mika melted against him.

"Please,“ Mika said. "Please tell her to fuck me.”

Chris wrapped his fingers around Mika’s arm and looked up at you. “Make him come.”

"But what about her–“

He tightened his grip. "She’ll have her turn.”

You dipped your hips and went hard, and with Chris in his ear whispering things you couldn’t hear, he didn’t stand a chance. Mika came, filling you, and Chris told you to lie on your back.

You did, and he put Mika’s face between your legs; he ate you out dutifully as Chris watched, turned on by seeing him lick his own cum out of you, and you saw Chris had his cock in his palm. You wondered if he’d be ready to go again by the time you came.

Mika always had been a messy eater, but this time it was amplified by the fact that he had his own mess there already. You loved the feeling of his rough beard against you. You loved his tongue. He had you close, and any other day you’d have been screaming his name, but you turned to Chris and locked eyes with him. “Chris,” you cried, “yes–”

Chris’ cock twitched in his palm and he smiled slightly. “Yes,” he encouraged. “Come for me.”

"Chris,“ you repeated, "I’m so close– I’m so close–”

"Make her come for me, Mika.“

Mika gripped your hips and held you as you shook, as you called Chris’ name through your orgasm, and then Chris pushed him onto his back beside you. Chris thrust his fingers into you, coating his fingers in a mixture of your cum and Mika’s, and used it on Mika in place of lube. He pushed Mika’s legs into the air and slid into him, who took Chris now with ease, and you watched breathlessly as your husband fucked him until he came again.

You lay there together, smiling, catching your breath, until Mika kissed both you and Chris and announced he was going to clean up and start breakfast.

“You plotted,” Chris said, coming down the stairs, “without me.”

“Generally that’s how surprises work,” you said, swatting his ass playfully.

Mika shook his head, getting the mixer from the cabinet.

Chris peeked over his shoulder. “Are you making Swedish pancakes?”

“Yup. And our beautiful partner got a treat to go with them.”

You produced a jar of lingonberries from the junk food cabinet, the one place you knew you could hide them that Chris wouldn’t look. He had a favorite brand, which you had special-ordered.

“Ugh, I love you both.” Chris wrapped his arms around Mika from behind and kissed him on the neck, then came to give you a kiss. “You know how to spoil a man on his birthday.”

You and Mika exchanged a grin. “You wait,” you said.

“Oh, God. I don’t know if I should be excited or scared.”

“Possibly both.”

After breakfast, you showered, dressed, and took the train to Manhattan. He talked so often about living in the city but never really taking advantage of what it had to offer, so you brought him to the Met. He’d been to the museum once or twice, but never really had time to properly go through everything, so you intended to wander with him all day. He lit up at ancient texts, did his best to translate some of the old Russian and Spanish he saw, marveled at the tiny pieces of handcrafted Egyptian jewelry from thousands of years ago, and stopped to sketch a few things. You and Mika both liked the museum, but museums were definitely one of Chris’ happy places, and the two of you kept exchanging smiles every time Chris was captivated by something he hadn’t seen before.

You took out your phone while Chris was examining a sword.

_Just me or do you fall in love with him a little bit more every time we enter a new room?_

Your phone buzzed shortly after. _Definitely not just you._

When the museum closed, you walked to Pastrami Queen and indulged in piles of delicious food. “Eat what you _like,_ ” Mika demanded. “Make this an _actual_ cheat day, not a Chris Kreider cheat day? Okay?”

To appease Mika, Chris allowed himself a thick pastrami sandwich and a mound of garlic fries. After devouring a delicious meal, you picked up some dessert and headed home.

When you got there, you marched Chris directly into the kitchen, making sure he didn’t look around too much, lest he notice the big surprise. Mika brought your gifts down to the kitchen. There were plenty, since you and Mika had also bought a gift “from” each one of the pets.

The first one he opened was from one of the cats. Snowball, the namesake of one of Hemingway’s cats, had gifted him a first edition of _For Whom the Bell Tolls._

Chris lifted it as though it were the most valuable item in the universe. “I _know_ Mika ordered this,” he said, smirking at you. “I know it.”

You nodded. “I would never stoop so low,” you said, and he laughed.

From Dinah, there was a magnetic chess board, and Chris had to laugh—it was Dinah that most often wanted to interrupt chess games by stomping into the pieces. Arwen, who loved to chew, had given him a charging cord encased in thick fabric. Pearl’s gift was a nice travel mug. “I love,” Chris said, “how the gifts from the rest of the cats solve problems they create. Pearl tried to push my damn coffee mug off the table again yesterday.”

Your puppy, whom you’d adopted last August, gave him the most hideous sweater you’d ever seen, and a foiled party hat. Chris erupted in laughter. He had dressed the dog in a sweater and party hat for Christmas last year and the dog had HATED it.

You had decided to give joint gifts, in the end. The first gift from you and Mika was tiny. Chris opened it: it was a ring box, and you quickly realized you shouldn’t have done that. What if he was thinking—you _had_ been talking about commitment ceremonies and making this a permanent arrangement—

He opened the hinge and raised his eyebrow when he saw the little USB drive where a ring would normally rest. “What—”

You couldn’t keep the grin off your face. “Put it in your laptop.”

He did, and when he saw that the lone file was an .mp3, he grinned immediately. “Oh, my God,” he said. “Did you…”

“Do you know how difficult it is to write and record an entire song and keep it secret from you?” Mika told him. “When you live in the same house as us?”

“I love you both so much,” Chris said, opening the file.

He listened to the song, and his grin grew wider with each second. It was, on all accounts, a love song from the both of you. The voice on the first verse and the chorus was familiar: you. A man’s voice began the second verse, and Chris stared at Mika. “Is this— is this you?”

Mika was beet red. “Yeah. I’m not good. I—”

Chris _launched_ himself across the floor and threw his arms around Mika. “You sound _great,_ ” he said, and you gave Mika, who now wore a shocked smile, a thumbs-up. _Told you,_ you mouthed—you’d had to bribe him to get him to sing the four lines he sang.

By the time it was over, he was teary-eyed. “What did I ever do to deserve the two of you?”

You shrugged. “Existed?”

He laughed, wrapping his arms around you, kissing you. “Thank you. These are amazing.”

“We aren’t done yet.” You and Mika stood up, and you offered Chris a hand.

“What _else?_ ” he said.

You led him into the other room. In the middle of the room, a black cloth with a big bow was draped over something large.

Chris’ hand flew to his mouth. “Holy shit. You didn’t. You _didn’t._ ”

He’d been talking about it, hemming and hawing, wondering if it would be worth it, and you and Mika had been hearing it for too long. _I’ll buy it,_ Mika had said. _That way he won’t feel any guilt at all. It’ll be from both of us._

Chris pulled the cloth to the side, and there sat a Steinway baby grand.

“What. Did I do. To deserve the two of you.” He collapsed at the piano bench, put the top up, lifted the cover, and played a few bars of Debussy’s _Clair de Lune._ “God, listen to that. Listen to that!”

You looped your arms around his neck. “I love listening to that. You’ll play more often now?”

“Yes.” He twisted to look up at you. “I love you both.”

“We’re not done yet,” Mika said, pulling his hair into a bun. “You haven’t came since this morning. That’s unacceptable.”

You grinned. “You’ve told me a lot of your fantasies over the years, babe. We’re going to do our best to make more of them come true tonight.”


	33. [bonus chapter: commitment ceremony]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter: After being together for two years, you decide to make a lifelong commitment to one another.

It was Chris who said it first, in a hotel room in Ottawa, in early October. It had become the norm for Chris and Mika to share a room on road trips now, and you—of course—stayed with them when your schedule allowed you to travel with them.

“I want to do this for the rest of our lives,” he said, after Mika hung up the hotel phone.

Mika blinked at him. “Sit on the bed while I call the front desk for extra pillows?”

His face broke into a grin. “Yes. And watch restaurant servers work out what it means to have three seated for an anniversary or Valentine’s dinner, and request king-size beds when we travel, and spend twice the time trying to decide where to go for dinner since there are three of us, and—all of it. I want this forever.”

You had thought about this a lot. It wasn’t the first time the subject had been broached. “I do, too,” you said. “I love you both so much.”

Mika, whose only residence in New York was now the seaside home the three of you shared, smiled. “Tell me we’re going to give this a little more ceremony than a promise in an Ottawa hotel room.”

\-----------

Once, when Mika was hurt and Chris was on a road trip with the Rangers, you’d gone to this glass-enclosed rooftop for a meal together. In December, the thick flakes of snow falling outside made it feel like you were inside a snow globe. Flocked greenery and bare branches lit with tiny white lights wound around pillars and reached across the ceiling. Fragrant pines with white lights in their boughs dotted the restaurant, making it almost seem like a forest clearing.

You wore red, a thick gown of claret velvet, and diamond chandelier earrings gifted to you by Mika and Chris especially for this occasion. Mika’s name was engraved on the back of one, Chris’ on the other. You carried a cascading bouquet of eucalyptus, white roses, and black pearl amaryllis.

Your friends and loved ones sat in a small circle, split by three aisles. A pianist played a piece by Yiruma, one of the songs heard often in your home when Chris sat down to play; the notes were like an embrace. You smiled at Mika, who wore a charcoal suit and a shirt to match the color of your dress. He’d been going back and forth about what to do with his hair on the way to the venue—it was up in a knot, and you thought that he’d made the right choice.

Three aisles cut through the restaurant, and the three of you advanced at the same time. No giving away, no waiting at the altar. All of you had wanted this to be a very egalitarian ceremony; you were all equal in this relationship, and you wanted that to be obvious.

As you walked slowly toward each other, you couldn’t help but feel a warmth in your heart at the love and acceptance in the room. Mika’s, Chris’, and your immediate families were all there. You had picked a date which allowed present and former teammates to be in attendance: Mats was there, and so was Kevin, who sat with Jocelyn, holding hands, beaming at you. Henrik and Therese’s younger daughter, Artemi and Alisa’s daughter, and Jesper and Amanda’s son were the designated flower kids, scattering handfuls of white rose petals down the aisles, while Henrik and Therese’s older daughter stood as ringbearer, carefully balancing three slender bands of hammered gold set with your birthstones on a little pillow.

Katie, Chris’ sister, had agreed to act as the officiant. There was, of course, no way to be legally recognized as a triad in the States, so you had no need of someone who was ordained. As you reached her, the three of you joined hands in a circle, so that each of you was holding one of the others’ hands.

“We are gathered here today,” Katie began, “in this little magical snow globe in the middle of Manhattan, to celebrate something just as unusual and magical.”

She was going off-script, you noticed, but you trusted her.

“We’re here to witness a lifetime commitment between three people who understand and live phrases like ‘sharing is caring,’ ‘the more the merrier’”— these elicited some smiles and soft laughter—“and ‘the more love you give, the more you have.’” She smiled. “They have the capacity in their hearts to love not just one other, but two others, and that is a gift.”

You squeezed their hands. Chris grinned.

“They have written their own vows that they’d like to share with each other now.” She looked at you, your cue to begin.

The three of you didn’t want to memorize them, but you also didn’t want to have to let go of each other’s hands during the ceremony, so you committed the words to memory.

“Anaïs Nin said, ‘I am in accord with the surrealists, searching for the marvelous.’ I have found the marvelous, the surreal, here in these two men with whom I share my life. I declare today before our closest friends and family that we are one. Mika, Chris—I am yours. And I am content knowing, as Marina Tsvetaeva said, ‘that I will be yours / In the heart, without words, until death.’”

Chris smiled at you. “You have so many similarities,” he began. “Both of you, from the day I met you, captivated me, challenged me, and helped me to become a better man. I started falling in love with each of you right away, and even though I tried to convince myself—both times—that I shouldn’t— I eventually realized I was hopeless.” You smiled, remembering how long it had taken him to make it official with you. “I promise that I will respect you as individuals, support you through difficult times, rejoice with you through happy times, be loyal to you always and, above all, love you as partners and friends. I promise to love and respect you, helping our love grow, always being there to listen, comfort and support you, whatever our lives may bring. I love you both, and I am yours forever.”

“Well,” Mika began, his voice trembling a little. “Mine aren’t as well-written as the two English professors’ vows, but here goes.” He took a deep breath. “When I fell in love with my best friend and then watched him marry someone else, I never dreamed we’d be here years later.” He tightened his grip on your hands. “I have to be one of the luckiest men on the planet for my two good friends to turn into my _älskling_ and my Belle.” That shy smile you loved so much appeared on his lips, and you wanted to kiss him immediately. “I am yours,” he said, “and both of you have my unwavering love, support, and devotion until I take my last breath.”

Charlise handed Mika’s ring to you and Chris, who joined hands and symbolically put it on his finger at the same time. “With this ring,” you echoed, “we promise to be your partners in life.”

Then Mika and Chris repeated the gesture for you, and you and Mika repeated it for Chris.

“Historically,” Katie said, “gardenias were used to symbolize joy, love, and a wish for good luck. Allium signified prosperity and unity. You should all have a jar of petals. Please stand and join me in making our wishes for these three life partners tangible.”

As the three of you walked back down one aisle together, hand in hand, you were showered with flower petals, grinning as your photographer snapped away.


End file.
